


Ride Eternal

by spaceliquid



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Forced Breeding, Forced Chastity, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mad Max: Fury Road AU, Major character death - Freeform, Mentions of non-con, Mutilation, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Apocalypse, Slavery, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, mentions of mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-24 03:42:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 68,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6140467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceliquid/pseuds/spaceliquid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On post-apocalyptic Cybertron Zeta who calls himself Prime rules his Citadel with an iron fist. No one dares to defy him - until Zeta's best Imperator Megatronus meets Zeta's scribe Orion Pax. </p>
<p>Mad Max: Fury Road AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone!  
> Apparently, ideas for long fics will always find me and eat my brain. 
> 
> I can promise no regularity in the updates this time, but. I will post new chapters as soon as I manage to finish them. Nevertheless, I hope you will enjoy this story!

Where life had no value, death, sometimes, had its price.

_For a Few Dollars More_

 

**1.**

The world in Orion’s books was very different from the world Orion knew. The scuffed, flickering datapads told stories of grand cities, of homes protected by “law” and of bots travelling around feely. Bots who were healthy and content, their plating polished and tanks full, their functions strange and unfamiliar. This world was so alien that sometimes it seemed like some other planet – Orion read about other planets, they were studied by people called “astronomers”.

The stars, though – the stars and the sky were the same. Those astronomers that spoke of other planets described the stars and constellations – the very constellations Orion could see through the glass ceiling of his room. Bright blue at day, black and illuminated by countless silver dots at night, it was the same sky the mechs from Orion’s books lived under, an eternal proof of their kind’s foolishness, the silent yet impartial witness. They killed the world, and now they were paying the price.

Was it strange, then, that Orion loved the sky? It was distant, yes, but beautiful, and beauty was rare in their world of rust and death.

Maybe far away from them was the only place where beauty could exist in peace.

The crowd outside roared, and it was a sign that Orion had to go. Sighing, he pulled the datapad’s plug from the port on his abdomen, closed the panel and stood up. Just a moment of stillness, to order his thoughts and put on a proper facial expression. He shouldn’t displease his lord and master by looking upset.

The walk through the Citadel was easy this time: the dark halls and narrow tunnels of the former mining facility were nearly empty, all its inhabitants gone to watch the arrival of the raiders. Orion’s footsteps echoed in the corridors – a rare occurrence, since they were usually full of gruff, loud voices and the cacophony of mechs arguing, screaming or fighting. Even though none of them dared to lay a finger on their Prime’s precious scribe, Orion was glad for a chance to walk with no glares following him. His privileged position was something many warriors dreamed of – and who wouldn’t want to live in a well-lit room with a soft berth and a plenty of energon to drink? – but nobody wanted to be a weak, unarmed monoformer.

The roar of the crowd grew louder and louder, until it became deafening, and finally Orion stepped into the throne room. It was almost as well-lit as Orion’s own, with the light coming from the open balcony, but Zeta’s seat was placed at the back wall, where it was protected from the scorching heat.

The old mech himself hummed when he saw Orion.

“Ah, there you are, Treasure,” he rumbled, his deep voice suppressing the noise. “Just in time.”

“My Prime.” Orion placed his hand on his chest and bowed, the perfect image of respectful submission, even while his fuel tanks churned at the pet name. Oh, he was Zeta’s treasure alright: prized and cared for, well-fed, well-watched, incapacitated, stolen from his home and mutilated and…

Orion forced these emotions back, an action as habitual as the hate searing him from the inside out.

Fortunately, soon Zeta seemingly forgot about him: he was busy adjusting his heavy mask as the servants polished the decorative panels on his back. They spread from behind Zeta’s shoulders like rays of light, and when they gleamed in the sun he looked like a god, surrounded by a golden halo.

Orion, though, saw Zeta up close too many times. Orion knew Zeta was no god; he was a mech just like everyone else, needed energon like everyone else, got sick like everyone else.

He was no Prime.

Orion kept this thought to himself.

The mask was set in place with a hiss of hydraulics. Zeta sent the servants away with a wave of his mighty arm and made the first step towards the balcony. His armor rattled, the floor trembling behind his feet; Orion had no idea how much Zeta’s ceremonial garb weighted, but the mere fact that the old mech was able to move in it with such ease was a testament to his power. In a ritual he knew on an automatic level Orion took his place behind his master’s back, following him to the balcony. At his right he was joined by Tarn – a tall mech with tank threads on his shoulders, the Imperator in command of the Citadel during the absence of the First Imperator.

He was coming back, though, and Orion could sense Tarn’s EM field rippling with excitement. Unlike Orion, Tarn enjoyed the sights of carnage like they were masterpieces of art, and days like this were his delight. However, this was the reason why Orion almost welcomed his company: Tarn’s potent EM filed submerged his own, concealing Orion’s revulsion.

He had to adjust his optics'sensitivity to avoid being blinded as they stepped out into the balcony, and the crowd below bellowed in ecstasy, its cries falling apart to form a word:

“Prime! Prime! Prime! PRIME!”

Zeta raised his hands, bathing in the mirrored light, and the cries faded to let him speak.

“Behold, my children!” he began, voice rolling over the terrace, amplified by the microphones in his mask. “Once again my brave warriors return from their glorious raid. They faced unspeakable dangers as they travelled through the desert and entered the mysterious ruins of great Iacon.”

From the balcony Orion could see the reddish brown moving sea below – the sea of Useless, those unfortunate bots who were deemed unworthy of entering the blessed walls of the Citadel. Too sick to mine or fight, possessing no skills to do finer work, they couldn’t earn the right to drink Citadel’s energon and enjoy the safety of its defenses. Only by the rare graces of their Prime they still lived. The gates of paradise were closed to the Useless.

This sea was parting, making way for a convoy of transports pulling heavy trailers loaded with booty. Sleek shapes of armored cars drove beside the convoy, separating them from the hungry Useless, for every now and then one of them tried to dash forward and grab something for themselves. It never ended well.

Orion averted his optics as a desperate Useless screamed, speared by two pikes at once, and Zeta shook his head, his voice rich with fatherly disapproval.

“Now, now, don’t be greedy!” he chastised. “The booty must be brought to those who know what to do with it. We shall make it serve the common good, but you – in your hands it will just break and become useless.” His voice rose to that mighty note where it rained down like thunder, smiting the heretics and dictating absolute authority. “Only through me you can be saved. Only I, the true Prime, will bring you all to the ever-shining Afterspark!” 

The convoy stopped, and another sound filled the square: the roar of flight engines. The convoy’s true protectors were appearing.

Several winged shapes came spiraling down, air swishing as it was torn by the wingtips. They transformed and landed in front of the first rig. The largest of them – a tall mech with bare grey plating and spiky shoulder pads – rose to his feet and raised his arm.

“Prime!” he greeted, a short, barking rasp.

“Megatronus, the First of my Imperators.” Zeta placed his hands on the railing. “How do you return?”

Megatronus’s answer was laconic – as all his answers were. Orion tightened his mouth; sometimes he wondered if the mech was even capable of tying together more than three words at once.

“Victorious.”

The crowd howled again, and Zeta allowed it, letting the people vent their joy.

“You never disappoint me, my Imperator. See this, my children,” Zeta outstretched his arm. “Once again my warriors return with artefacts of ancient times, with solvent, with machines that we will put to work to make a brighter future! They return with books full of secrets of the Ancients.” Zeta gripped Orion’s shoulder and pushed him forward, right to the railing. “And my scribe will uncover those secrets. I will make machines work! I will make energon flow! Obey your Prime, my children, and you, too, shall find salvation. Till all are one!”

***

Days after the raiders returned had always been hard for Orion: he had to go to the ground level of the Citadel and help sorting the booty. As the only one who possessed a literacy program pack, Orion was required to read the labels on the boxes, writings on machinery and markings on new sorts of weaponry. Datapads and manuals were automatically sent to his room for him to read and explain later.

“What’s this?” a seasoned warrior asked, showing a tubular mechanism to Orion. The massive mech was clutching his booty like it could be torn out of his hands any time (and perhaps it could be, judging by predatory glances of the other warriors; everybody wanted a new, presumably destructive weapon). “Is it a cannon? Tell me it’s a cannon! Here, what does it say?”

Orion squinted and pushed away the warrior’s dirty finger that pointed at some word on the side of the tube. It was smudged with oil and half-erased, but with some effort Orion managed to read it.

“It says ‘fragile’.” Orion looked the mechanism over. “See, there is a lens at the end. I’m sorry, Blast Off, but I think it’s some sort of scientific device. Maybe a microscope.”

Blast Off was crestfallen. But as soon as he heard other warriors laughing, his mourning turned into rage. Orion only managed to let out a warning cry at the sight of Blast Off lifting the microscope to smash it against the wall, but then a broad clawed hand grabbed Blast Off’s arm, stopping it.

“Don’t harm the goods,” Megatronus growled, and Blast Off immediately slumped in a futile attempt to seem smaller.

Megatronus took the microscope from his warrior and placed it onto a cargo platform. For a moment he focused on Orion, and Orion suppressed a shudder. Megatronus’s optics were red – the most unusual color – and it made them unsettling.

“Thank you,” Orion said, fingers squeezing the datapad he was holding. Megatronus grumbled something indistinct and walked away, his footsteps almost as heavy as Zeta’s.

Orion made a loud ex-vent, cooling his systems, and wrote the microscope into his catalogue of goods that needed closer examination. The faster he was done with everything, the better; he didn’t want to stay among these brutes longer than necessary.

***

The Citadel was silent at night, its inhabitants deep in recharge, excluding those guards who kept watch. Orion knew that long ago, before the war that killed Cybertron, buildings could be lit all night, artificial lights adorning the ceilings and special pillars in the streets. Bots could walk outside or work whenever they wanted, not afraid that their fuel will run out from keeping their in-built lamps on. Zeta had that opportunity even now in his private quarters, but Orion shuddered at the memory. Those poor mechs, optics gouged out and mouths welded shut, limbless frames embedded into the wall with energon pumped into them through auxiliary fuel intakes… One might pity the Useless, but even their fate was better compared to being Zeta Prime’s living lamp.

Zeta brought Orion to his private chambers many years ago, when Orion was just learning the ways of the Citadel. Zeta didn’t do anything to him, just made him explain a refining machine manual, nodding with satisfaction as he listened to the stuttering scribe. But that one visit was enough: Orion was a quick learner.

Orion bit his lip, forcing himself back to the present time. Technically speaking, he wasn’t doing anything wrong right now. He was forbidden to go outside, but inside the Citadel he was allowed to move freely. If caught, he could always come up with an excuse…

And nobody knew that he lost a datapad.

It wasn’t even that important a datapad – just a half-broken, slow one that he used to make notes. There was nothing there but the list of objects that attracted his attention during the earlier inspection. Orion had it memorized anyway.

It couldn’t have been stolen, since there was no one else in the Citadel who could make use of it. But if someone found it, Orion could be in trouble. They could go to Zeta and complain about his scribe’s absentmindedness; what if he lost really important data next time? Orion had no idea how Zeta would react. He wouldn’t get rid of Orion, Zeta needed him, but some punishments were worse than death… Zeta had a rich imagination, and Orion didn’t want to become the target of that imagination.

That was why he was creeping down the tunnels and stairways, carefully navigating around recharging warriors and servants, slipping past open spaces where guards could be patrolling. Stealth was his only protection back home, when he lived with his mentor, and old skills were still in place despite long seasons of misuse.

The lower he went, the narrower the passageways became, and the more they resembled tunnels carved in natural rock and metal. Upper levels, like the one where Orion lived, were obviously constructed from scratch. The hangar bay was the lowest level that Orion dared to visit; below lay the underground part of the Citadel, where the miners worked, lived and died. Those dark, claustrophobic shafts, where air was poisoned and dusty, had nothing that could possibly interest a scribe, and people that worked there, chained to their posts and constantly watched, probably had little love for intellectual-class mechs like Orion.

The hangar bay wasn’t different from the rest of the Citadel: same darkness, same slumbering frames lying at the walls or under the vehicles. Orion maneuvered around them, optic sensors on the finest setting. Here were the trailers and crates; here was the table. He put the datapad on the table at some point instead of using his subspace; stupid little scribe! Was it where he left it?

But the table was empty, as was the floor under it, as were the crates. Silently, carefully Orion searched the hangar bay; the datapad was nowhere to be found.

Perhaps it was in one of the crates with assorted booty? But he already searched the ones with unidentified objects – the ones he had access to; weapons were taken by the warriors right on spot, treasures were sent to Zeta… If his datapad was in one of those, somebody else had already found it.

Orion tried to calm his pounding spark down, but to no avail. There could be only one explanation: somebody had his datapad. They would either go to Zeta directly… or they would contact Orion and demand something in return.

Bad news for him either way.

Orion was going back to his room when a specter of hope born from desperation took over him. Perhaps he could search the unidentified objects again! What if he missed something? He didn’t even have to go far, those were kept on the very floor where Orion lived. Here were the quarters of those of Zeta’s subjects who were deemed valuable enough to have their own rooms, and those were mostly Imperators – which meant that the booty was under good protection.

Orion waited at the staircase for the guard’s footsteps to pass by, counted another thirty steps that the guard needed to turn around the corner, and crept to the storage space. He passed the antechamber and was ready to enter the main one when he noticed something unexpected.

Apparently, he wasn’t the only shadow lurking in the night.

It was crouched at the back wall; darkness didn’t allow to see properly, but it had a shape of a mech: Orion saw broad shoulders and an outline of a knee. And there was faint light illuminating the tubular form of the supposed microscope – light that was emanating from Orion’s datapad!

There was a sound too, so quiet that Orion didn’t catch it at first. But then he adjusted his audials, and the faint whisper took form.

“’Fragile’… this one is f… then this is… ‘i-n-f-o…’”

Orion’s jaw dropped.

“You can read?!” he exclaimed – as much as he could exclaim in a whisper – but the reaction was instant. The other mech jumped to his feet, and Orion never quite saw him move – how could anyone so large move so quickly? – but in the next second Orion was pressed to the wall, his feet dangling in the air, and sharp steel of a blade was tickling his throat. Orion’s mouth opened idly, no sound coming out of it, and he was staring right into the mech’s face. His optics were dimmed for darkness too, just like Orion’s own, but even at the most sensitive setting one could still see their glow.

The mech’s optics were red.

Orion gulped, prepared for the blade to cut his throat cables. He recognized the spiky silhouette he saw earlier. But the mech – Megatronus – didn’t move for the kill. Instead, the look in his optics was weird, almost… hunted? Orion opened his mouth again, trying to come up with something to say – but both of them stiffened when they heard hurried footsteps and the rattling plating of the guard. He must’ve heard the commotion…

And then Orion was suddenly free, slumped on the floor as the hand that held him up vanished. Orion blinked and could only see Megatronus running out of the room, the light of the datapad gone. Orion scurried to his feet; he couldn’t stay here, he had to escape, what if he’s caught..! But when he dared to look out of the storage space, the hallway was empty. Confused and uncertain, Orion still opted for dashing back to his own quarters. Perhaps Megatronus dealt with the guard, and perhaps if Orion got back, he’d be safe, it all would somehow be well…

Only as he was sitting on his berth, curled into a ball with arms wrapped around his knees, unable to stop his shaking, did he begin to realize what had just happened.

Megatronus had his datapad.

And Megatronus could _read_.


	2. Chapter 2

Miraculous as it was, but Orion didn’t get into any trouble for his nightly escapade. The guard disappeared without a trace; Orion had a fair suspicion that it was Megatronus’s doing. But none of the looted objects were missing, and after two days of investigation the matter was laid to rest. Life went on as if nothing happened – after all, it wasn’t the first time people vanished from the Citadel. Inner conflicts and power struggles were something Zeta turned a blind eye to.

Orion wished to go back to normal too, but couldn’t. His discovery was burning him from the inside; he never expected _Megatronus_ of all people to have a literacy pack! This was obviously a secret the First Imperator viciously guarded, and, to be honest, Orion was surprised he was still alive. He still felt the ghostly touch of a blade on his throat; one little motion, and Megatronus would’ve killed him back then. And he could sense Megatronus’s red gaze on him whenever they crossed their paths, the nasty crawling underneath Orion’s plating. He tried to stay in his room as much as possible, but he had to go out now and then, and it seemed like the Imperator’s red optics were following him even when Megatronus himself was nowhere to be seen.

In addition, his datapad remained in Megatronus’s hands.

“Orion!” the shrill, annoyed voice rang in his audials, and Orion flinched, snapping out of his panicked musings. “Are you even listening?”

“Sorry, Pharma.” Orion shook his head. “I had a bad night.”

“Yes, sure, whatever.” The Citadel’s resident medic grimaced, arms crossed on his chest. “Clearly you, who has a soft berth in a private room, had the worst night in the Citadel.”

“You have a private room too.”

Pharma’s wings perked up aggressively.

“And yet _I_ spent the last night elbow-deep in the bowels of some idiot who got a spear through his stomach,” he hissed, using his superior height to lean over Orion.

A twinge of consciousness made Orion raise his palms in a peace offering.

“I’m sorry, Pharma,” he said, hoping that his sincerity was clear. The medic was right: he was saving lives and working hard whenever he was needed. “I’m listening. What did you ask?”

Pharma glared at him for a klik more, mouth tightened in distaste, but finally continued.

“I said that this machine showed some new symbols during last operation, and I want to know what they mean. Here, I made a warrior copy them while I was busy patching up his pal, but I have serious doubts about his drawing skills…”

Orion took the metal plate where the warrior scratched the rough shapes of the symbols, nodding and murmuring in agreement as Pharma went on with his rant. Orion didn’t like him, but at least Pharma was someone Orion could kind of sort of talk to. The medic was smart, eloquent, and, as one who had special knowledge and rare finer skills, had a privileged position just like Orion. Unlike Orion, though, Pharma loved flaunting it, his white, red and blue plating almost obscenely clean and polished. Even his wings, despite being rendered useless, were kept in flawless condition.

Actually, Pharma’s sleek looks seemed almost offensive here, in the gloom of his medbay, among leakers, open carcasses and delirious donors.

Orion sat down on an empty slab, trying his best to ignore the weakly moaning mech on the slab to his right. The wires and cables in his crushed chest cavity were glistening with an unhealthy hue of energon. Pharma whistled some tune as he rummaged through his tool box. Orion had to hold back an urge to throw up and preferred to concentrate on his task.

He was deciphering the unknown warrior’s crude glyphs, copied with no talent or comprehension, when the doors to the medbay were flung open.

“Aw scrap, not that pit-spawned glitch again,” Pharma muttered, not really trying to be quiet. Tarn – and the pile of twisted metal clinging to Megatronus’s shoulder was Tarn – growled, but the deep sound turned into a pained squeak, losing all intimidating potential.

“He burned his t-cog mid-transformation.” Megatronus dropped his fellow Imperator on the slab that Orion hastily vacated.

“I can see that!” Pharma snapped, voice dripping venom. “Tell him to cease transforming every other second, I’m not his private medic!”

Megatronus hummed.

“If he burns through another t-cog in less than a month, don’t replace it.”

“M-megatron…us…” Tarn squeezed the grey mech’s clawed hand, optics pleading. “I… disappointed you…”

Megatronus grumbled something unintelligible, but allowed Tarn to cling to him for a klik longer before finally taking his hand away.

“Don’t become useless,” he said at last, although the gruff statement came out gentle.

It seemed like Tarn wanted to reply, but he was interrupted by Pharma.

“You two, get out of here,” the medic made a shooing gesture with a scalpel. “Orion, you will tell me the translation after I’m done with this slagger.”

And thus Orion found himself outside the medbay, alone with Megatronus.

His body was numb and rigid, and Orion made sure to look straight ahead to avoid the Imperator’s gaze, but to no avail: in the next moment he was grabbed and pressed into the wall again, Megatronus’s hulking frame looming over him.

What he said, however, was something Orion didn’t expect at all.

“What do you want of me, scribe?” Megatronus snarled, sharp claws digging into Orion’s shoulder and EM field rippling with… exasperation? “Enough lurking around! State your demands.”

Orion blinked, for once completely lost.

“Demands?” he echoed. “I… Don’t think I understand.”

Megatronus’s scary red optics narrowed to blazing slits.

“You _saw_ ,” he hissed. “Yet you haven’t informed Zeta, or I would be already taken to his torturers. You remained silent, so you must want something from me. What is it?”

Orion’s optics widened. So _that_ was it? Megatronus thought _Orion_ was going to blackmail him?

Megatronus was… afraid.

Orion could see his point, though. Reading was a dangerous ability; it meant that somebody could learn vital information not through Zeta, that somebody could _hide_ information from him! Orion was the only mech with a literacy pack in the Citadel. Even the self-proclaimed Prime didn’t have it – and he was determined to keep it so.

“I don’t want any trouble.” Orion stood perfectly still, as unthreatening as possible. “I’m not planning on blackmailing you or selling you out to Zeta. I was looking for my datapad that night and I was surprised, that’s all.”

Megatronus frowned; he obviously didn’t believe anything Orion was saying.       

“So you want to have some leverage for the future.”

Orion was tempted to say yes, just to end this situation and make the huge warrior back off. But something stopped him – something that he had never been able to fight: curiosity.

He was speaking to a person who, just like him, was able to read (if barely). Orion supposed that was how warriors felt about each other – that sense of camaraderie, of… of not being alone.

“Listen. Megatronus.” Orion looked straight into the big mech’s optics, sudden determination filling him with calm. “I know it’s hard to believe me, but I have no desire to antagonize you. You are not my enemy, and I don’t like seeing people get hurt. Besides, I don’t want to attract Zeta’s attention as well, and me wandering at night in search for a lost datapad isn’t something he’ll overlook.” That’s good, let Megatronus think he has some control over this situation. “I admit that I am interested in your… ability, but this is purely a scholar’s interest.” Orion hesitated, not sure if it was the time to make the next step. “I recall that you weren’t exactly fluent. Do you want me to help?”

Now that had an effect. Orion almost regretted his boldness when Megatronus’s claws delved into his shoulder, cutting into thicker outer cables. But the warrior’s optics were shimmering, conflicted. He opened his mouth, sharp fangs flashing under the scarred lips, yet said nothing.

The loud clangs of footsteps and distorted voices came from the stairway, and Megatronus released his hold on Orion, stepping back. He cast the last sidelong glance at the scribe and then stormed down the stairs.

***

Another two deca-cycles passed by without any change. Nobody barged into Orion’s room to bring him before Zeta Prime for justice; nobody made threats or ambiguous hints. Megatronus seemed to deliberately stay away.

Orion wanted to be happy and relieved about it, but couldn’t. Something had already awoken inside him, that part of him that answered for his natural thirst for knowledge, - and it wanted to know how Megatronus, of all people, got a literacy pack. One either had to come online with it or had to purchase and download it, and Alpha Trion said that all tech necessary for that was long gone. That was why mechs like Orion, who had it as a part of their base programming, were exceptionally rare. Megatronus didn’t look like somebody who could belong to what Alpha Trion called “intellectual class”, so Orion doubted Megatronus had his pack from his creation; it meant he somehow managed to download and install it! Now that was a mystery Orion craved to solve.

Nevertheless, it still came as a surprise, when one night he woke up with a heavy hand covering his mouth.

“Quiet,” Megatronus’s deep voice whispered over his audial. Orion blinked a couple of times and nodded, sitting up slowly.

The hand left his mouth, and finally Orion was able to take in his surroundings properly. He was in his room, familiar stacks of datapads surrounding him. Pale starlight coming through the thick bulletproof glass of the roof glinted on Megatronus’s grey armor; the Imperator was kneeling next to his berth.

“Hey,” Orion whispered lamely. What else was he supposed to say to a person who broke into his room in the middle of the night? “Um… What do you want?”

Megatronus’s optics darted to the floor for a brief second, but he collected himself and focused on Orion’s face.

“Teach me,” he murmured. It sounded a little constrained, as if he was battling with himself.

“Teach…?”

“You said you could help me.” Megatronus’s gaze became hunted again, but he stood his ground. “You haven’t sold me out yet, so whatever you’re planning… At least we’ll both be bound by it. Teach me to read better.”

Orion took a short pause to process what was said and fully grasp it. It was happening. Whatever he considered before, now there was no way back.

“Okay… Okay.” Orion sat up fully, putting his feet on the floor. “Do you have a datapad?”

Megatronus wordlessly took out Orion’s stolen datapad from his subspace and plugged it into his port. The screen flickered and lit up, the glyphs barely visible due to the scuffs and cracks covering its surface; Orion made a mental note to use a better one next time. As far as he could see, it was the same list of goods he wrote.

“Can you give it to me for a minute?” Orion took the datapad, opened a new page and started typing. “All right, the other night I heard that you had some troubles with deciphering the glyphs. You probably have the list memorized already, so here’s a new paragraph for you. Try reading it.” Orion handed the datapad over. “I need to understand where the problem lies.” Considering that he dealt with a blunt, no-nonsense warrior mech, getting straight to business was probably the best course of action.

Megatronus squinted at the datapad.

“T-kh-the… S-ee– Citadel!” he got elated upon recognizing a familiar word, “is l-o-s-a-t-ed… no, l-o-k-a-ted…” He paused. “I don’t know this symbol. Then there’s p…”

“Up,” Orion said quietly. “This glyph is ‘u’, the word reads as ‘up’. That’s enough.” He leaned closer to Megatronus. “Is you literacy pack incomplete? Malfunctioning?”

“I don’t have one.”

Orion stared at him like he had just sprouted a couple of additional limbs.

“What do you mean you don’t have one? You are clearly able to read the glyphs, so at least parts of it must be intact.”

“I don’t have a literacy pack,” Megatronus repeated firmly. “I was born a miner.”

“But then…” Orion stared at him again, some weird cool tickling his insides. “How _are_ you able to read?”

“I learned it.”

_“Learned?”_

Megatronus shrugged.

“I learned fighting on my own, without any special programming. So I figured, why would this be different?”

Orion was speechless for an entire klik. And then, on the heels of his astonishment and the joy of discovery, came terror.

“Do you… Do you realize how dangerous this is?!” He grasped Megatronus’s hands, too distressed to care for the possible retaliation. “If Zeta ever hears that a bot can learn to read and write on their own, he will… He will murder you! He will make you into his lamp, or something worse! He’ll send you to the breeding court, or give you to Pharma, or… You must never tell anybody of this! You shouldn’t have told _me!”_

Megatronus was just watching him for a while – but at the end of Orion’s tirade the corners of his mouth twitched, a subtle smile turning into a toothy grin.

“You are a surprising creature, Orion the scribe.” He freed his hands from Orion’s grip with ease and squeezed his shoulder. “I tell you of something that could be the greatest discovery, and your first reaction is caring about my well-being.”

Orion felt his antennas heat up.

“I think we both surprised each other tonight,” he muttered. “Besides... All you needed to secure your position was to kill me. But you never did. Not in that first night, not now.” When he finally dared to look in Megatronus’s face, his expression was solemn. “My full name is Orion Pax, by the way. Everybody here calls me Orion, but, well. That’s what I’m really called.”

“Orion Pax,” Megatronus echoed, and it had some finality to it: like Orion’s name was imprinted in his memory. “Anyway, even though I managed to figure out the meaning of most letters, I still have problems reading – you saw that. I want you to teach me how to do it right.”

Orion shook his head, trying to put his thoughts in order.

“I… I’ve never taught anyone. Until now I haven’t even realized it was possible!” _Was_ it even possible? What if this slow, laborious process of pronouncing the glyphs one by one was the extent of what a mech without a literacy pack could do?

Orion was dying to find out.

An unfamiliar fire was staring inside him, filling him with boldness he hadn’t known for ages. This was a chance to uncover a secret that could potentially change their world; this was a chance to defy Zeta.

And for once, Orion felt brave enough to defy Zeta.

“We’ll need a safe place for lessons, if I am to teach you.” Orion pressed a finger to his chin. “We can’t do it at day, I can be visited every minute. But I’m not sure my room is the best option – if more guards disappear from this floor, people will start suspecting something.” It could become a real problem: Citadel was crowded, and there weren’t many places where one could find solitude.

Megatronus hummed, contemplating.

“There is an old engine room under the oil reservoir. The machinery doesn’t work, but warriors don’t go there, because Tarn considers it his private place. However, Tarn leaves on raids when I’m in the Citadel.” Megatronus nodded at Orion. “We can use it when he’s out.”

The idea of squatting in a room that Tarn frequented made Orion’s fuel tanks churn… But he was with Megatronus, the strongest warrior in the Citadel. And Tarn was his subordinate.

“It could work?” Orion said carefully. “If you’re sure Tarn or other mechs won’t catch us…”

“You can never be absolutely sure.” Megatronus shrugged. “But that’s the best opportunity we have.”

Orion had some things to say about Megatronus’s straightforwardness, but the warrior was right. Their entire lives were full of risk.

“Let’s settle for it then.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally get to the MegOP interactions and touch on the subject of our heroes' past. Hope you enjoy!

“…c-an be uh, we-l-d-ed ee-a– eas-i-ly.”

“That’s very good!” Orion barely held back from clapping his hands. “You’re doing great!”

“It’s simpler if there’s a system.” Megatronus pointed at the datapad where Orion wrote the alphabet with basic reading rules. “I never could quite grasp it on my own, why sounds and letters didn’t often match.”

“I’m still surprised you managed that much on your own.” Orion leaned back on the curve of a pipe that he used as a chair, watching his student with awe. At their first lesson Megatronus didn’t know all the primary glyphs and had to spend quite a lot of time literally deciphering the words and sometimes guessing them by several letters.

This was their third meeting, and Megatronus was already reading more or less freely, using and combining the rules Orion explained to him. He devoured and assimilated new information like a starved mech would devour energon, and his excitement only fueled Orion’s own. It was a challenge for him as well – to formulate and sort out the rules that he used unconsciously, that were part of his basic programming granted to him from birth. Orion worked on it in the nights when they couldn’t meet: looking for guidelines and exceptions, turning them into bricks for a bigger system that he could later explain – and nothing compared to the euphoric feeling when he saw his explanations work, when Megatronus took them in and put them to use.

Orion couldn’t help but think – was it just Megatronus? Was this huge warrior mech somehow gifted with the ability to understand written language, or was everybody capable of that? Could reading be _taught?_

This thought was scary, in a tingling, sort of pleasant way. It was a thought that was forbidden in Zeta Prime’s domain, where Zeta himself was the source of all knowledge and salvation. Orion was the one reading and explaining ancient books and manuals for him, but nobody was stupid enough to make the mistake of seeing Orion as anything but the tool of Zeta Prime’s mighty will. Zeta was the Prime, the god-chosen leader destined to guide and shepherd them. Suggesting anything else was a crime punished by slow, torturous death.

Yet Orion delighted in committing that crime. In the dark of the night, hidden in the old engine room, he and Megatronus were defying Zeta together.

“But what are the other symbols?” Megatronus put the datapad he was reading on the floor beside him. “I remember sometimes seeing them, they look more complex than these alphabet ones, and they don’t repeat that often.”

“Ah, you must mean secondary glyphs.” Orion went through some pages and opened one. “Like this?”

Megatronus leaned forward to see the screen better. He sat on the floor with his legs crossed, so that his and Orion’s optics were on the same level.

“Yes, those. You called them secondary?”

“Yeah.” Orion put the datapad on his lap. “They come from the old language. My mentor told me that long ago, even long before the Great War, Cybertronians used to write only with them; ancient texts are written entirely in secondary glyphs. Each glyph meant an entire word or a concept. But then it was decided to be too complicated, and primary glyphs were created, each meaning a single sound. Secondary glyphs became obsolete, but scholars still learned them, and some of them remained in use, especially those that had sacred connotations. This, for instance, means ‘Prime’.” He pointed at a certain symbol.

Megatronus snorted.

“Sacred, right. That’s what Zeta wants everyone to think.”

They were treading on dangerous ground. Orion still wasn’t sure he could trust Megatronus, even despite their shared secret. The mech was a warrior, all bulk and spiky armor made to intimidate. He led numerous raids and took numerous lives in Zeta’s name. Orion should never forget it: no matter how smart he was or how much he wished to learn reading, Megatronus was Zeta’s First Imperator. That post didn’t go to soft-sparked people.

Who knows why Megatronus needed reading? He could be planning a coup to overthrow Zeta and put himself in the Prime’s place, and Orion doubted Megatronus would be better. Or at least, significantly better.

He did manage to surprise Orion by being (maybe) more decent than Orion supposed… and by being _much_ more intelligent.

“You’re quite different from what I thought you were,” he said out loud.

Megatronus chuckled, showing his sharp dental plates.

“Different how?”

“I… Don’t take it as an offence, but I thought you were more, um, simple-minded.”

“You mean dumb.” Megatronus laughed quietly at Orion’s expression. “Don’t be afraid, I’m not gonna be offended. It just means that my disguise works.” Catching Orion’s questioning gaze, he added: “You don’t want Zeta to suspect you’re cleverer than him, do you?”

Orion’s optics dimmed at this question.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, placing a hand on his abdomen. “I don’t.”

Megatronus’s expression softened.

“I know what Zeta does to his ‘treasures’,” he said, causing Orion to cast a glare at him. “I’m sorry.”

The gentleness in his rough voice was unexpected; Orion’s anger dissipated before it could erupt.  

“It’s fine.” He looked away, uncertain how to deal with this. How he used to deal with such things back in the days before the Citadel – those days that he forced himself to bury deep in his spark. Memory came – too late, perhaps, since the pause was already stretched long, but Orion’s lips moved before he could fully comprehend it.

“Thank you.”

***

The Citadel was in an uproar: another raid to an ancient city (this time Altihex, as old texts referred to it) was going to begin. Zeta didn’t call Orion to witness all departures, but for raids as large and potentially dangerous as this his presence was demanded. Zeta liked showing off his riches.

It wouldn’t be that bad if it wasn’t for the old mech himself. If Orion could choose, he’d prefer never to see their so-called Prime again. But there was no escape from him in the Citadel, where Zeta owned everyone and everything.

The Useless bellowed upon seeing their god on the balcony; they’d love to be owned, Orion thought. Being Zeta’s servants was better than slowly falling apart out in the desert, or being _torn_ apart by fellow Useless, hungry for spare drops of energon. At least Zeta understood that he had to feed his slaves if he wanted them to work.

“Behold, my children! Behold my warriors, bearers of my will, who are setting out for the city of Altihex! They shall bring back treasures that lie hidden among the fallen walls, treasures that I will put to service in the name of our glorious future!”

Orion stopped listening, trying to distract himself by studying the convoy: transports with empty trailers, a huge fuel tank carrying enough energon to feed the warriors on their way there and back, armored cars, two-wheelers and a squad of fliers. Megatronus stood in front of them, his gunmetal grey plating making him stand out like a dead among living. Other warriors painted themselves in many colors; being unpainted was considered a bad omen – one looking like a corpse could become a corpse. Apparently, Megatronus didn’t care for superstitions – or used them to instill fear.

_He should paint himself._ Orion blinked, startled by this thought, but now that it was there, he couldn’t chase it away. Suddenly the memories of all the previous raids came back: the warriors’ numbers smaller than in the beginning, many wounded and maimed, many dying in Pharma’s care. A warrior’s life was risky and often short; only few were strong enough to become Imperators, and even Imperators died now and then.

A little twinge pierced his spark, making it pulse faster, and Orion had to control his face not to let it show. He… didn’t want to see Megatronus as one of those wounded. He didn’t want to see him on a medical slab.

He didn’t want to see the raiders arrive without their Imperator.

Orion tried to catch Megatronus’s gaze, but the distance was too big. He could hear his voice, though, when Megatronus answered a question Orion didn’t realize Zeta asked:

“Yes, Prime!”

Then he leapt into the air and transformed, which was a signal for the mechs under his command. The convoy moved out.

Orion collected himself just in time to bow to his Prime, make way for his enormous figure and follow him from the balcony to the shade of the throne room.

Zeta harrumphed, laying one heavy hand on Orion’s waist and pulling him close. He was in a mellow mood today.

“Prepare yourself, Treasure,” he purred, rubbing Orion’s side. “They’ll bring you even more work. And who knows, maybe one day they will bring me a new scribe!” He winked. “Then you’ll be able to give that pretty head of yours a rest - get a new job!” He smacked Orion’s backside and finally let go of him, laughing at his own jest.

It took all of Orion’s willpower not to flinch; not with Tarn, his officers and the servants watching.

“If that will be my Prime’s command,” he replied politely, bowing. Zeta just laughed again, waving his hand dismissively – a sign that Orion could go.

Only when Orion reached his room he finally allowed himself to wrap his arms around his own shoulders and shudder. Zeta was most likely joking. If he ever got his hands on another scribe, the logical thing would be to use both of them, it’d increase the work capacity…

Although the amount of books the raiders brought was limited. Not enough to keep two scribes busy.

It will be all right. He’ll be all right. Orion had to repeat it again and again, in futile hope that perhaps it would help him convince himself. Better think of something else; better think of new lessons with Megatronus.

_But what if Megatronus didn’t come back?_

***

Orion groaned and put the datapad he was reading aside; no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fully concentrate. Rays of sunshine poured into his room through the roof of armored glass, filling it with golden light, heating the air and plating so much that Orion’s cooling fans were whirring on maximum. It made him remember the wind blowing into his face, sand gritting under his tires; memories of speed and open desert.

His engine roared, making his wheels spin idly. Orion cursed, jumped up from his seat and started pacing around his tiny room; this restlessness plagued him for several days now. His mind was in disarray, and Orion couldn’t stop wondering about the raiders.

They should reach Altihex by now if everything went fine; they should be pillaging the ruins of the city, making their way between the empty buildings and fighting off scavengers that inhabited them.

Cities had artifacts from the ancient times in plenty, but there was a reason why Zeta resided so far away from them: there was no energon there. Old mines that the cities were built around were long since depleted; the Citadel, on the other hand, was one of the few places on Cybertron that still had energon deposits, giving Zeta access to the most important resource on the planet. Perhaps that was why it resembled a military base more than a mining facility, blueprints for which Orion saw in some of his books; perhaps the Citadel was built late during the war, when energon became scarce and was to be protected.

But it forced Zeta to organize risky long-distance raids to get old artifacts into his possession, putting many of his warriors’ lives in grave danger. That was why he valued talented Imperators so much, that was why Megatronus – a mech who led dozens of successful raids – was his First Imperator.

Orion hoped that Megatronus’s famous strength and cunning didn’t betray him now.

Orion stopped in the middle of the room, confused. He never really cared for raids before; warriors and Imperators came and went. Yet now he was… worried? There was a mech leading raids before Megatronus appeared in the Citadel, there would be a new one if Megatronus didn’t return. Maybe it would be better if Megatronus didn’t return – then Orion’s secret would be buried with him.

But even as Orion finished this thought, he knew he didn’t mean it. He didn’t want Megatronus to perish; his spark contracted painfully at the mere idea.

Their lessons were the only thing that brightened Orion’s days; it was something he grew to look forward to. He didn’t want to lose that little joy he had.

There was a clang outside, and the door to his room was swung open. Orion turned around swiftly, his face neutral again, to meet the guard and a slender minibot he was escorting.

“Hello, Rewind,” Orion said and nodded to the guard; the mech left without any words, everyday routine boring and familiar to all of them.

The minibot didn’t reply, just took his usual seat. His blue visor was dull, disinterested; Orion never heard him talk unless repeating what he had recorded, and that was done in a monotone, colorless voice. All Orion’s attempts to communicate hit the wall of detachment.

Rewind was taken during a raid, just like Orion, and was the only living prisoner brought to the Citadel – just like Orion. The scribe could guess how gruesome it went; he had his suspicions about the reasons for the Rewind’s demeanor. They never had a chance to properly talk outside of work, though: Rewind wasn’t intellectual class, he was a memory drive, and so he was kept like a memory drive – locked up in Zeta’s treasury.

Orion shut his optics for a moment, forcing all the unnecessary thoughts aside. No time for being sad about Rewind’s fate; the only way they could help each other was to work hard and satisfy their master’s thirst for knowledge. Orion read the datapads aloud, and Rewind memorized the information, so that he could recite it later when required. As long as they were useful, they were alive.

Orion switched on the datapad that needed recording and started reading.

***

_Orion rarely saw anything in recharge, but tonight he dreamed._

_He dreamed of a small underground chamber beneath the outskirts of Iacon; its walls covered in shelves full of datapads, stacks of datapads lying around two narrow berths, on the small refinery machine, under the table that stood in the middle of the room. An old mech sitting at the table, his back slouched, once fancy and regal plating dented and scuffed; yellow light comes out of a lamp adjusted to his head, filling the room with warm, homely glow. Orion himself lying on the floor on his stomach, feet in the air and nose stuck in a datapad._

_Orion raises his head to ask his mentor a question about a word he doesn’t understand, and Alpha Trion smiles as he answers, calmly and in detail as he always does. Orion listens diligently, but as soon as his mentor makes a pause, Orion thanks him and goes back to reading; he’s too impatient to know what happens to the characters next. He hears rather than sees how Alpha Trion shakes his head, his facial decorations scraping against the chest armor, but then a delicate, narrow hand of the old scholar pats his head. Orion shuts his optics and purrs. He is happy._

_He dreams of the ruins of Iacon, jagged silhouettes of buildings ravaged by war and corroded by the elements, pitch black against the moonlit sky. Orion walks the streets of Iacon in the night, when scavengers and bandits are either asleep or shivering in the relative safety of their shelters. Night Iacon belongs to the sparkeaters, but Orion is protected: Alpha Trion gives him a phase shifter to wear on his wrist – a little trinket that grants him a power to walk through walls. Orion moves around Iacon like a silent ghost, rummaging through old stores and looking for energon scraps and new books to bring home. Alpha Trion doesn’t leave the chamber anymore, he’s too old and weak for that._

_Until one day new bots arrive to Iacon – a convoy of heavy vehicles, cars and fliers escorting the transports, all bearing a symbol of a red frowning face. These bots aren’t afraid of the night: they sack and ravage Iacon, killing all who dare to oppose them; these bots spot Orion and hunt him down, even more so when they see him disappear in a wall. Orion runs, but he can’t stay inside solid objects for too long, his phase shifter has only that much power, and his pursuers blast every solid surface that hides him._

_Orion makes the mistake of running home._

_His dream becomes chaotic after that. He sees the ceiling of their little chamber broken, dust dancing in the air torn apart by searchlights, bookshelves buried under the rubble. He sees the glisten of the attackers’ dental plates and the glints on their blades, hears their enraged yells when Orion crushes the phase shifter underfoot in the last desperate attempt to keep it from their hands. Then he feels searing pain, and he falls, a lance protruding from his stomach. As he lies on the ground, he sees Alpha Trion’s body being dragged away, his kind optics grey and devoid of life. Some mech already has a buzzsaw in Alpha Trion’s shoulder joint; Orion learns later that spare parts from frames untouched by rust and other infections are precious._

_Then his consciousness leaves him, and in the real world Orion wakes up._

Orion woke up, his optics hot and engine wheezing in distress. He lay on his side, curled up and shaking, just like he lay on his destroyed home’s floor all those years ago, watching Alpha Trion’s body being dismembered and maimed.

The berth’s padding under his head was scorched from tear-sparks he shed in recharge. Orion bit his lip, trying to stifle the sobs threatening to escape his throat; he hadn’t had these dreams for many years, he shouldn’t dream of this, shouldn’t think of this! No use to linger in the past, no sense in predicting the future; there is only today, and the goal is to survive it. This was how everyone operated in the Citadel, where every day could be your last and every mech was everyone’s enemy. Orion shouldn’t diverge from this way, it kept him alive all this time, like it kept the others alive…

It was too late. Something new bloomed in Orion’s chest, some strange cavity, like a small spot of softness where water falls on a dry ground. And his poor spark reveled in this softness, fluttering and aching and burning, burning so hot –

Sparks flew from Orion’s optics, hands clamped over his mouth to muffle the sounds, and he wept: for Alpha Trion, to whom he never got to say goodbye, for their home that was gone forever, for all those quiet evenings when they read and talked and laughed together.

And when Orion could weep no more, giving in to the numbness taking over his limbs, he heard the voice of Megatronus repeat in his mind:

_I’m sorry._

Orion ex-vented slowly, pulling his knees to his chest. His spark stung, pounding against its casing, agonizing yet warmer and more alive than ever. He shouldn’t feel like this; Megatronus was an Imperator, the most vicious murderer in Zeta’s pack… But he wasn’t the one who attacked Orion’s home. That was long before Megatronus even appeared in the Citadel. Megatronus was… a friend.

Orion wanted him to come back safe.

***

And come back safe he did. Orion had to put a lot of effort into hiding his joy as he watched the usual scene of Zeta greeting his returning warriors. Megatronus stood in front of them, strong and indomitable as always. Orion couldn’t see his face properly, and later, during the usual bustle of sorting and identifying the acquired goods, he couldn’t really show any unusual interest in the First Imperator. They managed to set a date for their next meeting, however, and Orion barely contained his excitement.

They met at the same spot in the dead of the night, and this time Orion smiled first. It was relieving to have a living mech beside him, not some ghost of the past. Orion spent years doing his best to stay alive, but only now, upon seeing Megatronus up close again, did he feel truly alive – for the first time since Alpha Trion’s death.

“I’m… glad you returned unharmed,” he said, finally fulfilling the need to express what was haunting him for days. “I was worried.”

“Really?” Megatronus raised an eyebrow, but his expression lacked malice; this was just a friendly irony, not a venomous jab. “There goes my hope that I created a solid reputation. I led dozens of raids, Orion Pax, all of them victorious.”

Orion shook his head.

“Anyone can die.”

“That is true.” Megatronus nodded. “Now, Orion Pax, let us move to lighter subjects. I bet you have some new challenge prepared for me.”

“I do indeed.” Orion smiled despite himself; Megatronus approached grammar and orthography like they were combat opponents. “But before we start, do you have any questions? Something you thought about?”

“Actually, yes.” Megatronus put his hands on his knees, resting his weight on them – a gesture of almost childlike curiosity. “Zeta forbids us to take books that are written in columns. Why is that? I saw some of those during the raid, but they were written with secondary glyphs, and I can’t read them.”

“In columns..? Oh, you mean poetry!”

Megatronus tilted his head.

“Poetry?”

“Yes, it’s like… Like songs, but without music. Sometimes the words at the end of the lines rhyme, sometimes they don’t, but there is always a certain rhythm to them.” Orion’s face darkened. “Yes, Zeta doesn’t want me to spend my time on poetry. He says it doesn’t have any useful information. With prose it’s not certain unless I take a look at it, but nobody writes tech manuals in rhyme.”

“What is there, then? If it’s not useful information?”

Orion waved his hands, trying to figure out how to explain it.

“Well, it’s… for expressing how a person feels, usually. To make the reader feel in a certain way. Sometimes to tell a story or make a point. Depends on the writer, you know?”

“I suppose so,” Megatronus said, and Orion had serious doubts that he understood anything. “You like it a lot, don’t you?” Megatronus asked suddenly, taking Orion off-guard.

 “…Yes, I do.” There was no reason to deny it. “But I haven’t read it since I was…” His voice trailed off, a lump blocking his throat. But Megatronus’s red optics were still fixed on him, and Orion forced himself to continue: “Since my home was destroyed.”

“I heard that you were taken to the Citadel.” Fortunately, Megatronus didn’t press the matter, and Orion was thankful to him for that.

An awkward silence hanged between them.

“So, um…” Orion swallowed, hoping to get rid of the lump. “You said you were born a miner?”

“I was, yes.” Megatronus’s optics became unfocused for a second. “But it was long ago, back in Tarn.”

Now this made Orion’s antennas perk up.

“Tarn? You’re from _Tarn_?! From the South?!”

Megatronus chuckled at his astonished face.

“And here I thought my red optics gave me away.”

“I didn’t know Southerners had red optics.” Orion’s books never mentioned it. “Wait, does it mean Tarn – our Tarn, not the city – is also from the South?”

“Of course. Why did you think his name was Tarn?” Megatronus laughed again. “He was but a newspark when he was brought here, so people started calling him that.”

“What about you? How did you get here? And how did you get out of the mines? If you don’t mind me asking,” Orion added hastily. After all, he avoided talking about his own past, he didn’t want Megatronus to feel at a disadvantage.

Megatronus shrugged.

“No, it’s not a secret. In Tarn it’s possible for a miner to become a warrior, but for this you need to fight in the Arena… It’s a place where mechs fight wild beasts and each other for the spectators’ entertainment. If you survive long enough and manage to make an impression, they allow you to fight a high-ranking warrior. You kill them, you get their place and their altmode. That’s exactly what I’ve done.”

“This is interesting.” Orion hummed. “Lines between functions seem to be less rigid in Tarn.” In the Citadel nobody could change their occupation; Zeta claimed it was the basis of order. There were miners who could come online and die without seeing the sun once, there were breeders, shackled like cattle and producing newsparks, there were warriors, who went on raids and defended the Citadel, there were specialists like Orion and Pharma. And above them all stood Zeta Prime, their divine benefactor.

Megatronus’s voice brought him back to reality.

“Make no mistake, life in Tarn wasn’t any better than life here. As for how I got here…” Megatronus averted his optics. “I got in trouble with our Chieftain. Was sold to our neighbors, escaped, got captured by Zeta’s raiders… The usual.”

“The usual,” Orion echoed. It was sad, letting go of the hope. Before he could imagine that somewhere on Cybertron a place existed where everything was different – one of those mysterious cities with ancient names: Tarn, Vos, Simfur… Now he knew that wherever he went, it was the same cruelty and the same despair.

There was no place for hope on Cybertron.

“Orion? Are we going to have a lesson?”

“Huh? Oh, right, yes. Sorry.” Orion offered Megatronus an apologetic half-smile. “Okay, tonight I suggest we try writing…”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Tarn with an Autobot mask](https://outlashting.tumblr.com/post/139383335118/may-i-request-some-edits-of-other-characters-with)

Writing definitely wasn’t Megatronus’s forte, as he discovered: his claws, deadly and precise in battle, became clumsy when he tried to draw the graceful shapes of the glyphs. Then Orion introduced typing, and the learning went much faster.

Unfortunately, the process stalled again now that Megatronus had to go on a raid. He could practice reading by studying the labels and old signboards, but to practice writing he needed a datapad and a quiet, secluded place where nobody could see him. It made him restless and his temper short. All he wanted was to finish that damn raid quick and get back to the Citadel, to see Orion again and continue his studies.

Orion wasn’t aware of it, but Megatronus had been watching him for a while. The little scribe sometimes read the labels aloud, and at first Megatronus simply tried to memorize how those symbol strings looked to have a better chance of collecting useful goods next time. Then he noticed that some symbols in different strings were the same, just like the sounds in words, and that’s how he came to a conclusion that, perhaps, there was some logic behind them. That, perhaps, he didn’t need to memorize the entire strings – he just needed to decode them.

He began watching Orion with a purpose. He didn’t think much about the scribe himself, Orion was but a conductor for that secret knowledge Megatronus was gathering. Now, however, it was hard not to think about Orion. The more time Megatronus spent with him, the more proof he got that Orion wasn’t a schemer; what Megatronus took for a manipulation tactic turned out to be _naivety_. Orion had a perfect opportunity to make the First Imperator do his bidding: even if their secret meetings were discovered, Orion would most likely come out of it alive. He was the only scribe in the Citadel, an indispensable asset; warriors, on the other hand, were expendable – even Imperators. Yet Orion refused to use his power.

Megatronus still had some suspicions, but they were growing thinner with every day. In their place came worry; naivety and trust were dangerous qualities. Every time he came back from a raid he was prepared not to see Orion at the balcony – but fortunately, so far his fears didn’t come to pass.

This time Orion was there too – a tiny figure beside Zeta’s massive form. Megatronus suppressed a sigh of relief. There was also a small jolt of excitement: Megatronus couldn’t wait for their meeting.

But that had to be postponed. At least Megatronus was able to see Orion up close during the sorting of the booty, the scribe’s red and blue plating, almost untouched by the elements when compared to the warriors’ scratched and dirty armor, standing out in the crowd like a beacon. They even exchanged short glances – all they could afford right now.

Megatronus spotted Tarn’s form moving towards him, and turned to meet his protégé, mood uplifted. This was the chance to determine when the new meeting could take place.

“Hail Imperator!” Tarn transformed to his root mode and saluted him.

“Overworking your T-cog again, Tarn?” The huge tankformer stiffened, his broad shoulders drooping, but the guilty look on him was so ridiculous that Megatronus couldn’t help but chuckle and shake his head. “Report.”

Tarn’s red optics flashed under the mask, and he started describing the situation in the Citadel during the raiders’ absence. Megatronus listened, forcing himself to look straight in Tarn’s face. It became hard ever since Tarn started wearing that mask – a dark red plate in the shape of Zeta’s brand. Every single one of Zeta’s subjects had one: Megatronus bore it on his chest, Orion had it on his shoulder. They all were Zeta’s possessions. Megatronus hated that mark of ownership; it was the second brand he had, the first being the purple triangle-shaped mark of the Tarnian Chieftain. He got rid of it after he escaped from his homeland – but in the end he only traded it for the red frowning face of Zeta’s.

Tarn, however, was brought to the Citadel as a newspark and was raised here. Megatronus remembered the silent shell-shocked sparkling, his optics red just like Megatronus’s own. Maybe it was some vague sentimentality that forced Megatronus to take the sparkling under his wing. He made sure little Tarn was fed well and taught to fight, even showed him some moves himself. Of course, Megatronus couldn’t spend much time with the sparkling, being busy with climbing up the ranks and going on long raids outside the Citadel; nevertheless, it came as an unpleasant surprise that Tarn grew up to be a fanatical follower of Zeta’s, worshipping the so-called Prime and believing every word of his like it was a divine revelation. Megatronus still wasn’t sure if he was proud of Tarn for becoming an Imperator, or disturbed by it.

But finally Tarn mentioned the piece of information Megatronus was waiting for:

“Now that you’re here we’re gonna go on a raid to the eastern borders.” Tarn grinned under the mask – Megatronus could hear it in his voice. “There are rumors of some refugees wandering there. Maybe we’ll catch some healthy workers, or even a specialist.”

A shiver ran down Megatronus’s spine, but he concealed his distaste.

“When are you departing?”

“In two days, most likely.” Tarn straightened his back. “I will make you and Zeta Prime proud!”

Megatronus nodded.

“I’m sure you will.”

***

Orion met him with a small smile that Megatronus grew to cherish. He had never seen Orion smile in public – only here, in their little engine room.

“Hello!” But then his smile faded, making way for worry. “Are you wounded? I saw you go to Pharma’s medbay.”

“Just a scratch, nothing serious.” Megatronus raised his arm, showing a fresh weld line on his side. “And hello, Orion.” The scribe’s concern made him feel weird; warmth spread through his fuel lines, and his spark fluttered. He wondered if he should say something in return, tell Orion that he was concerned as well, maybe? But the proper words didn’t come to him, so Megatronus decided it was better to skip the words and get straight to the main event. “Here, I guessed you might like it.” He rummaged through his subspace and took out a datapad. He found it in a wrecked building, in a pile of other datapads; those he took to the trailers, just as he was supposed to, but this one he hid. Nobody suspected that a warrior like him could need a book.

Orion took the datapad with his usual reverence, small fingers deft and careful, and wiped the dust off the screen. Then he activated it – and Megatronus felt another wave of warmth rushing through his veins at the sight of Orion’s awestruck face.

“This…” Orion gaped at him, optics shimmering. “It’s poetry!”

“Well, it sounded like you missed reading it.” Megatronus shrugged. “And screw Zeta, really.”

He almost laughed at the way Orion was lost for words, switching between staring at the datapad and looking back at him.

“Thank you,” Orion breathed out at last. “Thank you so much!” He scrolled down the pages. “And it’s not just poetry, it’s a collection of plays!”

“Plays?”

“It’s basically entire stories told in poetry. Alpha Trion said they were once acted out before spectators by special performer bots.”

“Who is Alpha Trion?”

Orion’s face changed instantly, a shadow of sorrow darkening it. He gulped, and Megatronus began to wonder if they should drop the topic when Orion answered:

“Alpha Trion was… my mentor. I lived with him, back when… Before I was brought to the Citadel.” He paused, and then continued in a quiet, even tone. “I used to live in Iacon, in a little secret shelter that belonged to Alpha Trion and me. He was an old bot, a scribe; he taught me everything I know. Then Zeta’s raiders came… It was the first time they raided Iacon, I think. They destroyed our home, killed Alpha Trion and took me.”

His voice trailed off, and they stayed silent for a while.

“I’m sorry about your mentor,” Megatronus said at last. “And about you.” A part on him was ready to sneer: _it’s their fault they couldn’t defend themselves; the weak shall perish._ But that part wasn’t dominant anymore – and, to be honest, Megatronus doubted it ever was. No matter how many times he repeated it in his mind – _only strong survive, if you can’t fight, you deserve to die_ – somehow he always knew it was a lie, a delusion meant to keep his sanity.

But Orion sat before him, small, weaponless and so, so sad, and Megatronus knew Orion didn’t deserve any of the horrors that happened to him. The warriors could detest Orion all they wanted, envy his fairly comfortable life and despise him for that, but Megatronus saw the price for that life: a faded scar on Orion’s abdomen, right where his T-cog once was, - a guarantee that he wouldn’t be able to escape; scars along the seams of his interface panel where it was welded shut – Zeta’s most treasured one-of-a-kind workers weren’t allowed to build close relationships with anyone, and shouldn’t be ‘distracted’ or put at risk by carrying sparklings. Orion was a tool, and he was stripped of all functions but the one Zeta chose for him.

Megatronus used to be a miner. He knew better than many what being somebody’s tool was like.

Orion shook his head, snapping out of his memories.

“Do you want me to read a play to you?” That small smile appeared on Orion’s lips again, an attempt to chase away the sorrow. “I think I know this one, it’s good.”

And Megatronus returned his smile.

“Yes,” he said softly. “I’d like that.”

***

Megatronus quickly realized that the characters in the play annoyed him. They all were rich and healthy, none of them had to work to get their fuel. In fact, they had so much fuel they could spill it or refuse to drink it! Even their servants didn’t seem to be hungry or beaten; they were busy with the same leisure activities as their masters. They lived in beautiful houses, danced and joked with each other, and even battles weren’t the brutal clashes Megatronus knew, no: they were “duels” with some unreasonable weapons and rules. And still all these bots were whining and complaining about their supposed “suffering”!

Yet as the play progressed, Megatronus found himself more and more immersed in the story. Maybe it was the way Orion read it, his optics shining and his voice changing depending on the character. Maybe it was the melodic rhythm of the poetry, a web of words, each adorning the other and enhancing their meaning; Megatronus never heard people speak like that in real life, but it wasn’t bad. These complex, long phrases littered with pretty descriptions, some of them unfamiliar, resonated within Megatronus’s spark somehow, making him feel... things.

Maybe it was that, in the end, he could relate to some of the emotions the characters spoke of. Revenge Megatronus knew, as he knew grief and desire to have something he wasn’t allowed to. So when Orion finished the play, Megatronus quietly asked:

“Read another one?”

“You liked it?” Orion beamed, and Megatronus thought that, perhaps, he enjoyed seeing Orion so alive even more than he enjoyed the poetry. “I’d be glad to read you all of them, but not tonight – there is no time. How about our next meeting?”

“Deal.” Megatronus nodded. He should’ve been protesting, since reading the plays slowed down his studies, but for some reason he wasn’t. Zeta had a point: poetry really didn’t have any useful information.

But that didn’t make it worthless.

***

Another night, another play read in the dark of the old dusty engine room. Megatronus forgot to care that his learning process was delayed; listening to Orion’s voice make the characters speak like they were here in the room, - this suddenly became more important than anything in the universe.

Most plays were about love – something Megatronus didn’t exactly understand, at least not in the way it was described in the book. He understood interface; interface felt good, and it was easy to get attached to the person who made you feel good. Perhaps even to a breeder, although Megatronus didn’t know that – he personally found this particular idea of Zeta’s repulsive. In the mines of Tarn there were no breeders: miners ‘faced with each other and knocked each other up. Not many children survived, since carrying was not an excuse to be freed from work, but it still was better than Zeta’s breeding court, a dark and spacious cavern where mechs and femmes were shackled to pillories on all fours like cattle, to be fragged, carry and deliver non-stop, the stench of transfuild and valve lubricants heavy in the air. New arrivals were struggling and begging for mercy, but sooner or later they grew silent, their optics turning as dead as the optics of their neighbors.

Warriors had their interface panels free, and most of the sparklings born in the Citadel were sired by them, but Megatronus never could bring himself to visit the breeding court. Whatever relief he needed, he found among his comrades. Fragging between the warriors wasn’t forbidden, although the matter of who’s going to do the spiking was the reason for many fights and injuries: no warrior wanted to find themselves carrying. Of course there were some who preferred taking it up their valve, and there were those who preferred to frag one chosen partner, but in the end it didn’t matter: Pharma made a small fortune on unlucky fellows who needed a carriage termination.

This, Megatronus thought, was more like that love thing: liking a certain bot’s company enough to keep them around and occasionally frag was something he could understand as well. But those bots in the plays weren’t fragging; they didn’t even mention fragging most of the times! They spoke of kisses instead, of wanting to spend their lives together, of the pain of being apart from each other. It was strange; it didn’t serve any purpose, it didn’t heighten their chance of survival, it had nothing to do with their function!

Maybe that’s why it fascinated Megatronus so much.

“Orion?” he asked when the play ended. “Have you ever felt that?”

“Felt what?”

“Love.” Megatronus gestured to the datapad. “Like in the book.”

Orion seemed baffled by the question.

“I…” His antennas moved – a quick twitch that Megatronus came to associate with embarrassment. “No, not like this. I mean, I felt love – I loved Alpha Trion very much – but it wasn’t, you know, romantic. Like here.” He paused, optics darting to the floor and back at the datapad. “I used to dream of it, though. Wondering if I ever get to experience it. But I…” He shifted in his seat and sighed. “I don’t think it can exist now. In this world. I mean, we have so many other things to worry about, to fear… I think it’s something only these people from the old times could have.”

Megatronus was taken aback.

“That’s… a very sad thing to believe.”

Orion didn’t reply, just shrugged with another sigh.

“Orion.” Megatronus was surprised by how his own voice was shaking – like there was a strain in his chest that he was afraid to pop. Thoughts were swarming in his head like Insecticons, trying to form some sort of order, but he couldn’t stay silent any longer. “Orion, that’s a load of scrap. That’s Zeta speaking. You said yourself that you loved Alpha Trion, and… You do like these plays, right?” When Orion nodded, Megatronus continued, like he was advancing his positions in a battle of sorts. “It means that you can understand what the characters feel! We may not have felt it before, but we can learn. We can learn!” he repeated, optics flashing. “If something’s bad, it can be improved!”

A pale smile appeared on Orion’s lips.

“Like your handwriting?”

Megatronus stared at him for a moment – and then let out a short laugh. Orion was smiling with him, and this was a win.

“Yes. Like my handwriting.”

“Hope,” Orion said softly. “Alpha Trion would’ve called it hope. _‘There’s still hope for us,’_ he used to say. _‘That’s why we keep the knowledge: in hope that one day, it will help somebody.’_ ” He put his hands in his lap, contemplating something, and Megatronus realized he had never seen Orion so serene.

He had never seen anyone serene.

“You know…” Orion didn’t raise his optics. “There was a book at our home. A very mangled one, half of the data was damaged. It was a collection of plays and poems, similar to this one.” He stroked the edge of the datapad. “There was a song in one of the plays; I have no idea to what melody it should be sung, but I really liked these lines.” He closed his optics, remembering.

“Trip no further, pretty sweeting.   
Journeys end in lovers' meeting,   
Every wise man's son doth know.”

Orion opened his optics, and this time he was looking straight at Megatronus. “I always wondered why I liked them so much. Now, I believe, I understand: because they speak of hope.”

***

Iacon’s domed roofs and arching highways were a familiar sight – Megatronus’s company raided the city many times – but now it invoked new emotions in him. Like guilt?

It was Megatronus’s predecessor who led that first attack on the ruins of the ancient capital, yet Megatronus still studied his surroundings with a strange churning in his fuel tanks. Which pile of rubble used to be Orion’s home? Which datapads that Megatronus took from the locals were scavenged from old Alpha Trion’s collection?

How many bots faced a similar or a worse fate after his raids? Megatronus wasn’t the Imperator who killed Orion’s mentor – but he could have been.

In the present day, however, the raids were done differently. Iacon’s residents wanted to live, and they had long since realized that they had no resources to defend themselves against Zeta’s well-fueled and well-organized warriors. So they met Megatronus and his party in the open, groveling and presenting the best of the treasures they managed to dig out of the enormous ruins of the once great metropolis. Of course, Megatronus’s men still searched the city and the hidden vaults of the scavengers, just to make sure that nothing important was withheld – but they mostly left the Iaconians be. It spared time, lives and precious energon.

Some older warriors grumbled and complained about “the new ways”, but nobody was foolish enough to disobey Megatronus’s orders. Those who dared met their end on his blade or with a smoking hole in their chest, their bodies disassembled for spare parts. Megatronus trusted those spare parts to remind the other warriors of his authority. And those who craved the glory of the battle could get their share on the way back: the heavy-loaded transports were an attractive prey for the bandits of the desert.

Unfortunately, every system had its failures, and Megatronus’s system of tributes did too. The Iaconians immediately turned their backs on their chief after the raiders discovered that a rag in his house hid an entrance to a tunnel. They even caught the members of the chief’s family that tried to escape, and cheered as they were pushed into the raiders’ hands. It was logical, Megatronus supposed; everybody was trying to save their own aft.

He still felt like a coward when he chose to venture into the tunnel instead of watching his warriors push the prisoners around.

Two of his officers were already waiting in the chamber at the end of the tunnel: his best heavy hitter and his best scout, Megatronus’s most praised and disciplined.

“Here, Imperator.” The huge masked tankformer pointed his headlight at the wall. “There is mostly weaponry and ammo here. The second chamber has a box, but we didn’t open it without you.”

“Good work, Brawl.” Megatronus assessed the trophies quickly; they looked untouched. “You and Barricade, choose something for yourselves, one item each.” It was always wise to reward loyalty. “I’ll go check the box.”

“Thank you, Imperator,” the two said in unison. Barricade was twice as small as Brawl, and their different specializations ensured that they didn’t get their optics set on the same weapons. Megatronus needed no conflict among his officers.

Leaving the two to poke and probe the trophies, Megatronus went to the second chamber – that, upon closer inspection, was more of a niche. There was a box there, or rather a chest, but as soon as Megatronus opened it, his lips curved in disappointment: no datapads. Nothing to bring back to Orion.

“They’re mere trinkets,” he muttered, delving into the small pile with his claws. He knew a useful tool when he saw one, and these things had no use for them. Just some jewelry, fragile and shiny, only good for showing off and making yourself a target – like those the bots in Orion’s plays wore.

The thought of Orion made Megatronus smile to himself. And that’s when the tips of his claws got stuck in something; frowning, Megatronus curled his fingers and plucked the unknown item from the pile.

It was a thin diamond-shaped plate made of metal bands; they intertwined to create an elaborate pattern, and the gaps between them were what caught Megatronus’s claws. The seemingly delicate strips of metal didn’t dent or bend, despite the force with which Megatronus handled it, - and the blue glowing parts that wove the bands together formed a strange, ethereal pattern.

The more he studied the little plate, the more intrigued he was. It did look like a piece of jewelry – but Megatronus couldn’t figure out how one was supposed to wear it. It had no chain (or a ring for a chain) for it to be a medallion, nor did it have a magnetic clasp to attach it to the armor. It was just a very thin, intricate plate of silvery metal, so clean and polished that it was hard to believe it was buried under a dirty hut in the middle of the ruins. And that clear, gentle blue radiance resembled the light of a spark – of something living.

It was beautiful.

Making up his mind, Megatronus opened his subspace and put the little plate there. Brawl and Barricade were still immersed in discussion about the weapons behind his back and didn’t seem to notice anything.

Megatronus wouldn’t bring Orion any more poetry from this raid, but maybe this strange entrancing thing would do.

***

It was a delight to see Orion’s smile again, and the memories of his desolated home city dissipated from Megatronus’s mind, as if whisked away by a desert wind. Orion was alive and well, here with him. This was what mattered.

“I’ve prepared several lessons for you, both for writing and reading.” Orion was nearly bouncing in his seat. “Found any interesting inscriptions during the raid?”

“No, no inscriptions.” Megatronus bathed in Orion’s enthusiasm like in the best heated oil. “But I brought you a present.”

“Oh!” Orion’s mouth opened. “You shouldn’t have… You’ll spoil me.” There it was, the same embarrassed twitch of the blue antennas. Megatronus made a mental note to make them twitch as often as possible. “Isn’t it dangerous for you? To hide goods? What if someone knows?”

“Don’t worry, I’m careful.” Megatronus waved his hand. “Everybody does it.” He dug into his subspace and took out the plate. “Here. It’s no poetry, sorry, but maybe you’ll like...” Megatronus stopped as he saw the expression on the scribe’s face. “Orion?”

“It’s…” Orion was staring at the silvery-blue plate with wide, wide optics. He raised his hand, but left it hanging in the air, shaking, not daring to touch. “Megatronus, you… Do you even realize what this is?”

“No.” Megatronus tensed, glancing at his gift with growing concern. “What is it?”

Orion finally locked optics with him, and there was something in his gaze that made Megatronus forget he could move.

“This,” Orion said, slowly, solemnly, “is the Key to Vector Sigma.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is a TFP MegOP fic without the "journeys end" reference? :3 Let's say Cybertron had its own robot Shakespeare.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my lovely friend Ana, who is sick; get well soon, dear! Hope the story will help you feel a little better.

“The key to what?”

“Vector Sigma.” Orion blinked, and the ceremonious tone disappeared from his voice when he realized that his friend didn’t share his shock. “It’s the ancient super computer, the living core of our planet, the source of life… The spark of Cybertron, if you will.”

Megatronus appeared ready to drop the relic he was holding.

“And this is what, a key that opens it?”

“It can do many things.” Orion still couldn’t bring himself to touch the Key, almost afraid that it would vanish if he did. “Lead one to Vector Sigma, give access to it, activate it… Alpha Trion told me about it, I read the ancient texts.” Orion gulped. “I saw the pictures. This is exactly what the pictures looked like. Where did you find it?”

“In a dusty box full of trinkets. I believe its owner had no idea it was that important.”

“And it must stay so!” Orion jumped to his feet. “Megatronus… Nobody must know about it! If Zeta gets his hands on it…”

“But he must know where this Vector Sigma is first.” Megatronus peered at Orion, dread settling in his tanks. “Do you?”

“No,” Orion said, and that tight knot in Megatronus’s stomach loosened a bit. “May I…” His hand reached for the Key. “May I touch it?”

“Of course! It’s a gift for you, after all.”

Orion’s fingers pinched the Key with utmost care. He raised it to his face, marveling at the soft gleaming, and turned around to sit down on his usual pipe…

When the Key pulsed in his hand and glowed bright blue.

Orion froze, hand trembling; Megatronus darted forward.

“What...”

“I don’t know!” Orion turned to him – and the glow vanished. This time Orion studied the Key closely, his brows furrowed. Slight movement to his left – and there it was, that bright light again, and the soft tinkle, like the Key was singing.

“It never did this when I was holding it,” Megatronus muttered. Orion cast a terrified glance at him.

“I swear, I was very careful with it! I don’t know why it’s reacting!”

“It seems to be showing a direction,” Megatronus interrupted quietly.

Orion’s mouth closed, and they remained in silence for a while, letting this sink in. Both understood what neither voiced: the path to what the Key had to be showing.

“You said the Key can activate Vector Sigma,” Megatronus began at last. “And by ‘activate’ you mean..?”

“I… I’m not sure.” Orion stared at the tinkling Key. “The ancient texts were vague, more like fairy tales rather than clear instructions. But Alpha Trion used to call Vector Sigma the source of mystic power, something that gave Cybertron life.” Orion paused, almost wary to say it aloud. “Maybe it can make Cybertron live again?”

Megatronus’s optics narrowed, their gaze intense.

“You believe that? Orion!” He went down on one knee next to the scribe, peering right into his the face. _“Do you believe it has such power?”_

Orion hesitated again; he didn’t know for sure, he couldn’t know for sure, even Alpha Trion couldn’t know it! But if anything was able to help their husk of a world, it was Vector Sigma.

“It contains the wisdom of all the previous generations,” he stated slowly. “Even if Vector Sigma can’t restore Cybertron, it must have information on how to do it. _That_ I believe.”

***

It was hard to concentrate on his work during the next few days. The Key to Vector Sigma was hidden next to the book of poetry in a little stash Orion carved in the wall of his room many years ago. But even put away it haunted Orion, the memory of it tingled his fingers.

The key to the restoration of their planet was lying in Orion’s room. It showed the way to Vector Sigma, all one needed was to follow the directions. Cybertron could live again, its great cities rebuilt and gardens flourishing; energon crystals would grow in plenty, everyone could farm them instead of mining for scraps left over from ancient times. All one needed was to find Vector Sigma.

Which meant leaving the Citadel and travelling through the desert, and who knew how far? The Key only showed the direction, it was no map. Vector Sigma could be miles and miles away, on the other side of the globe. Escaping from the Citadel was madness as it was, but crossing the desert without getting killed made the task simply impossible.

And yet the thoughts persisted, plaguing Orion’s mind day and night. But it wasn’t just the idea of Cybertron’s salvation; it was the temptation of freedom. Leaving the Citadel was a dream Orion never dared to fancy before, but now that he had a reason for it, everyday sights became unbearable. The walls and low ceilings pressed down on Orion; the still air smothered him; his scars ached, and the phantom sensations in his missing t-cog woke him up at night. Zeta’s touch nearly made him throw up right in front of the Prime.

Orion was tired of being a tool, and the Key was calling for him from inside the stash.

***

“…then screw the auxiliary intake port’s cover shut to prevent infection.”

“Aaand done!” Pharma did as the book’s instructions suggested and wiped his hands with a cloth. “A peculiar operation, but it takes too much time. Amputating part of the fuel pump is quicker and easier.”

Orion pressed the book to his chest.

“But it says here that the survival rates…”

“Oh, who cares.” Pharma threw the cloth into the sink with the blunted and energon-covered scalpels. “These warriors won’t live long anyway. I’m not going to spend hours crouched over some brute only to have him skewered on a pike the next day. Still, it was most enlightening.” He gave Orion a short dismissive nod.

Orion stifled the angry words that were ready to escape his mouth. This was what Pharma was like, no use in trying to change him. Orion had no right to judge: they all had their own ways to cope with their lives.

“Hey… Pharma.” Orion followed him around the medbay, not ready to return to his workplace yet. “Have you ever wished to leave the Citadel?”

“Do I look like an idiot?!” The medic cast a dismayed glance at Orion over his shoulder.

“No, I don’t mean leaving for real… But, you know, wistful thinking. Haven’t you dreamed of using your wings again?”

“No!” Now Pharma looked scandalized. He even stopped and spun around to glare at Orion from his superior height. “Do you think I don’t remember what it was like, living in the desert? Being fought over by filthy, rusty savages and kept in slaggin’ _tents_? Tents, Orion!” Pharma’s upper lip twitched, as if he smelled something foul. “Here I have my own room with solid walls and a roof, I have other people to do the dirty work for me, I have energon to drink and solvent to keep me clean. So no thank you, I don’t want to leave ever.”

“Oh.” In a way, it made sense. Why indeed leave the safety of the Citadel, if all that was required was to fulfill your function and be useful? “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend.”

“Sure.” Pharma went silent, his cold blue optics scrutinizing Orion. “Why do you ask?”

Okay, this was becoming dangerous. Orion was already cursing himself for his carelessness, but he had to get out of this situation first; self-flagellation could wait for later.

“No particular reason.” He shrugged, presenting his most innocent smile. “A scribe has functions beyond simple reading, you know.”

The way Pharma’s face changed slightly almost made Orion smirk. But he kept his too-innocent façade as he exited the medbay, leaving Pharma to wonder if it was indeed a spy’s threat and if he could be accused of dissent.

They both learned to protect themselves in their own way, after all. The difference between them was that Orion hated the Citadel for making him learn it.

***

“We must find this Vector Sigma.”

Orion, who was prepared to say the very same thing, stared at Megatronus in shock. His friend was pacing around the small engine room, hands clasped behind his back and claws flexing.

“Even if it can’t restore Cybertron, it can help us get rid of Zeta. If what you say about its power is true.” Megatronus’s red gaze fixed on Orion, and the scribe frowned.

“Alpha Trion clearly spoke of its importance! I have no reason to doubt his words, he’s the wisest and most honest person I’ve ever met!”

“Sorry, sorry.” Megatronus raised his palms in apology. “I didn’t mean to mistrust you or your mentor, I just wanted to be sure. Anyway, if this Vector Sigma is indeed a source of mystical power, as you put it, Zeta must never learn of it. He’d just want to have it for himself.”

“Agreed.” Orion nodded. “So, do you suggest what I think you’re suggesting?”

Megatronus finally stopped his pacing and straightened his back, rising to his full height.

“We must find Vector Sigma, and do so on our own. To have a raiding party at our disposal would be safer, but alas.” Megatronus shrugged. “We can’t afford any of Zeta’s servants to know the truth.”

Something fluttered in Orion’s stomach. It was real. It was happening.

“Which means we’ve got to escape from the Citadel in secret,” he finished slowly.

Megatronus chuckled, although there was no mirth in this laugh.

“’In secret’ would be impossible, we are important enough for our absence to be noticed right away. Besides, if we travel through the desert, we’ll need fuel. The absence of _that_ will be noticed even faster. And here is one of our biggest problems.” He flexed his claws again. “I am a fighter jet, I can’t carry a lot of additional weight. If I am to carry you – and I doubt we’ll go far on foot, so I’ll have to carry you – there won’t be any place for fuel.”

“Not to mention maneuverability.” Orion bit his lip. They would, without a doubt, have to fight their way out of the Citadel. Megatronus would have to be in his best fighting shape.

“We’ll need a transport. Maybe we can take some of the heavy-loaders hostage – then you’ll have to be prepared, it’ll be your job to keep them in line, – or…”

“Or use me.” Orion raised his head, optics bright with a sudden idea.

“You?”

“My altmode is a truck. I can easily haul a medium-sized fuel pod.” He stepped closer to Megatronus, in hurry to explain his point. “Then you’ll be free of burden and able to fight at your best. We just need to put a t-cog in me – and Pharma is a master at that.”

Megatronus’s red optics grew wider as Orion spoke – until finally he smirked.

“Oh yes, Pharma had a lot of training in this particular operation.”

“All we need is to make Pharma do it and be quiet about it.” Orion started pacing as well, tapping his chin. “We’ll have to bargain. There must be something that he wants but can’t have…”

“Or something that he doesn’t want everyone to know.”

Orion stopped to look at his friend and frowned at Megatronus’s predatory grin.

“You mean… blackmailing him?” Normally Orion would’ve protested – blackmail would definitely cause Alpha Trion’s disapproval, it wasn’t nice to use other people’s mistakes against them…

But the Citadel taught Orion much. And theirs was a dire need.

“You have something on Pharma?” Orion asked, tilting his head.

Megatronus’s grin grew darker.

“Let’s just say that our doctor hasn’t been very _chaste_. In fact, I am absolutely sure that those weld lines on his interface panel are fake.”

“And you know this how..?”

“Tarn doesn’t keep any secrets from me.”

“Wait, you mean… _Tarn?!_ Tarn and Pharma?” Orion’s jaw dropped. “But this is… They hate each other!”

“Doesn’t stop them from fragging like turbofoxes in heat.” Megatronus shrugged. “What do you think Tarn uses this room for?”

“Primus.” Orion cast a suspicious glance at his favorite pipe. It was comfortable to sit on; presumably it was also comfortable for many other things. 

But this did offer a good opportunity for blackmail.

***

Life went on as if nothing changed, and Orion was thankful for that. He needed time to come to terms with the idea of escape. They haven’t talked to Pharma yet – they couldn’t risk doing it too early or with no certainty that they’d actually go through with their plan. The more time passed, the more insane the idea seemed; Orion spent long hours writhing on his berth, sleepless, reminiscing on Pharma’s words. The outside world was dangerous and cruel; any journey without a proper defense entourage was doomed from the start. And was Vector Sigma truly somewhere out there? Even if it wasn’t a myth, it could’ve been destroyed and pillaged, just like the rest of Cybertron.

Sometimes Orion took the Key out – just to remind himself that it was real. Orion sat on his berth with the thin plate in his palms, watching the pale starlight gleam on the metal. The Key started singing when Orion pointed it south.

South. To the lands where Megatronus came from.

Still, Orion wasn’t ready when during their next meeting in the engine room Megatronus said:

“It’s now or never, Orion. Tarn has returned from the southern borders patrol, they had a major clash with the bandit tribe and killed many, so the way south is relatively free. We must go before some new gang claims the territory. I’m supposed to lead a raid in three days, the fuel will be prepared the evening before the departure.”

Orion gulped, his legs turning numb. This… this was too fast. Their crazy wish was becoming a reality too fast.

“But… We… We need a plan.”

“There will be a plan.” Megatronus didn’t appear to notice Orion’s hesitation, too engrossed in his ideas. “The tankers will be positioned at the gates of the main hangar, filled and ready to go. We’ll have Pharma install your t-cog the night before, sneak into the hangar and drive off.”

“If it was so easy, people would be fleeing the Citadel in dozens.” Orion finally managed to organize his thoughts somewhat. “What about the guards at the hangar? The mechanics? They recharge right next to the vehicles.”

“Leave that to me.” Megatronus crossed his arms. “I’ll create a distraction, they won’t even realize you’re gone until it’s too late. Once they do, however…” Megatronus stared at him, the red light piercing Orion and nailing him to the floor. “You must be prepared: Zeta will send half of his army after us.”

Orion squirmed.

“Do we even stand a chance? I’m not the fastest vehicle around, especially with a load.” It started looking like pure insanity: the two of them against Zeta’s warriors, trying to outrun them…

“I wouldn’t lie to you and say our chances are high.” Megatronus narrowed his optics. “But I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t believe we could make it. There are much simpler ways of suicide.”

It didn’t exactly comfort Orion, but he kept his emotions in check. He had to do this. He held the Key to Vector Sigma in his hands, a possibility to restore Cybertron. It was his duty, his responsibility to make use of it.

He had no right to falter and cower.

“Orion?” Megatronus’s baritone cut through his musings. “Are you ready to do this?”

“Yes,” Orion answered, giving his all to stop his voice from trembling. “I am.”

***

Pharma’s angry hissing was the first thing Orion heard when he came to his senses after going into stasis from pain.

“…hope you and Tarn both are smelted in the Pits!”

Orion moaned and onlined his optics; two blurry smears above him became Megatronus and Pharma, one mildly annoyed and the other livid. Megatronus nodded to him (he avoided showing any attachment in front of Pharma), but his optics were relieved.

Orion sat up, and his side answered with a dull ache. He glanced down, but nothing changed on the outside – only the old scar became fresh.

“Did it… work?” he managed to wheeze, which caused a new burst from Pharma.

“Of course it worked, who do you think I am?! Go on, transform.”

Still afraid to believe it was true, Orion called upon the long-forgotten sequence – and there it was, the sensation he missed so much, the feel of his components moving – like a plate that was forcefully bowed springing back into its natural shape. In the next moment Orion was sitting on his tires – and his t-cog exploded with pain, making the read-and-blue truck shudder.

“Transformations will be painful during the first several days,” Pharma said vengefully.

Orion transformed back, his face very unamused.

“But will it function?” He caught Pharma’s gaze and held it. “Will it function fully despite the pain?”

“Yes, sure, whatever!” Pharma finally had to avert his optics, and it clearly infuriated him even more. “Remember Tarn if you don’t believe a medic.”

“Fine then.” Orion’s expression softened. “Thank you, Pharma.”

It earned him another string of curses.

“I did what you wanted.” Pharma cast a short glance at Megatronus. “Now get lost.”

“We shall,” Megatronus replied calmly. Pharma couldn’t guess how literally that was meant.

***

The Citadel was a crowded place, and thus not really well-guarded or controlled. Everybody watched everybody, and there was nothing but desert and hungry Useless outside the Citadel’s walls. Perhaps this was how their plan was going to work, Orion reasoned as he followed Megatronus down the stairs to hangar and then to the gate, carefully avoiding the outspread limbs of sleeping mechanics. The air reeked of energon – probably the aftermath of filling the tank with fuel, although Orion pitied the unlucky bot who spilled the precious liquid.

“Here,” Megatronus whispered, pointing at the dark shape of the tank trailer. Orion stopped before the pod, his spark pounding so hard it hurt. His legs became weak, and for a brief second he was afraid he was going to collapse right here.

That was it. He was really going to do it. There was no way back from now on.

Megatronus raised an eyebrow, and Orion finally got his t-cog to work. Pain shot through him as he transformed, but Orion welcomed it: like a cold, fresh wave it coursed down his body, chasing the feebleness away. With a clang Megatronus attached the trailer and put a little remote in front of Orion’s chassis.

“I’ll create a distraction. When you hear a blast, open the gate and drive. Don’t stop no matter what; I’ll catch up with you after I’m done here.”

“What if you don’t?” It came out barely audible, and not just because Orion didn’t want to wake the mechanics up.

“Then you drive as fast as you can and find a place to hide. You should have the time advantage.”

With this said, he turned around and vanished in the darkness before Orion could object; Megatronus knew the scribe wouldn’t dare to use anything louder than a whisper.

Orion was left to wait alone. The silence of the hangar and the subtle smell were getting on his nerves; the time was drawn out, every klik seeming like an eternity. It took all of Orion’s willpower to keep his plating from rattling, and the thoughts troubling his processor were becoming more and more erratic. What if somebody wakes up? What if the gates get stuck? What if his own systems malfunction?

The urge to switch to full power was growing into a need, but Orion forced himself to stay still. This was why Megatronus was creating a distraction in the first place: to muffle the screech of the gate opening, the clatter of the fuel tank moving and the sound of Orion’s engine.

His tension played a bad joke on him: when a thunderous crash shook the Citadel, followed by more blasts and rumble, it took Orion an entire second to collect himself. But after that Orion didn’t waste a beat: he transformed his arm and pressed the button on the remote.

The gate was going up slowly and loudly; Orion was revving his engine in impatience, the energon boiling in his lines. The moonlit desert beyond the gate was almost dazzling, cold night air washing over Orion’s heated plating, and the moment the gate was high enough Orion dashed forward.

The wind howled around him, sand crunched under his tires, and behind him the Citadel was roaring, screams and yelling weaving into the cacophony of explosions and plasma shots, but Orion never stopped to look what was going on there; he had to trust Megatronus and hope for the best. So Orion drove on, the Key to Vector Sigma pulsing in his subspace like a second spark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we finally got to the road trip from hell!


	6. Chapter 6

The Citadel became a blurry hill on the horizon when the sound of flight engines finally rolled above Orion. The burst of joy in his spark drained quickly, leaving a hollow void as soon as Orion scanned Megatronus’s form. The grey jet was covered in soot and burnt energon, some plates were gone, baring the sparking circuitry.

“You’re hurt!”

“I’ll live. Don’t slow down, Orion.” Megatronus made a circle over him. “I took down some of the fliers, but I’m sure we’ll be having company soon. I covered your tracks, so hopefully it will buy us some time.”

“Covered my tracks? How?”

“Flew low enough to blow the sand over them.” Megatronus attempted to chuckle, but only managed to cough.

“Will you be able to lift the fuel tank?” Their original plan was to reach the mountain ridge that marked the border of Zeta’s lands and hide among the rocks, but the only way to get the trailer up there was to transport it by air. With that nasty wheeze coming from Megatronus’s vents, however…

“We’ll see,” Megatronus replied dryly, and Orion’s fuel pump contracted. Primus help them.

The eastern sky was growing lighter, the stars paling one by one. But the hope dawn usually brought with it was lacking today: the rising sun was greeted by the howl of jet thrusters and ecstatic battle cries: Zeta’s fliers caught up with them.

“Megatronus –“

“Drive!” Megatronus barked, spinning around to meet the pursuers – the very squad he used to lead. And Orion drove, concentrating on the way ahead of him, trying and failing to block the sounds of laser fire, the screech of breaking metal and the vicious cries.

“Traitor!”

“Looking not so mighty today, Imperator!”

“Hey, do you think I can get your place, eh, Megs?”

“We trusted you!!!”

Megatronus just growled, his cannon humming non-stop. A trail of black smoke blinded Orion for a moment, and he barely avoided an overconfident flier who crashed right in front of him. Sand flew up from under Orion’s wheels like a tidal wave, and the trailer’s hitches groaned, but Orion passed the burning carcass, if by an inch. Only then did he realize that his spark skipped a beat, and now it was thrashing around somewhere under his throat.

“Get him! Get the scribe!”

Another crash to his right, heat licking the side of his chassis. They were not firing at him – that at least was a relief – but they didn’t hold back when it came to Megatronus. Orion saw him up in the morning sky, facing against two opponents at once – and Orion’s entire frame shook, almost thrown off his wheels, as another flier dropped on top of him.

Orion went into a skid, trying to find his balance, but the additional weight nearly toppled him during a particularly acute turn. Claws scratched his wind deflector – the flier, too, was doing his best not to fall, and Orion’s next sharp turn was intentional.

“Get off, _get off_ me!” Orion growled as the flier was dangling from side to side, claws digging into the seams –

Until a grey shape rammed into him, pushing him off the truck. The flier fell on the ground in a tangle of limbs and wings, and the single blast from the fusion cannon finished him.

“That was the last one!” Megatronus proclaimed, sounding strangely more vigorous than before, despite the new injuries.

Orion couldn’t help but get affected by the euphoria of a victory.

“We might make it! We might make it to the mountains!”

But their joy didn’t last: in the next klik Megatronus’s voice became strained.

“I saw a pursuit. Zeta sent his warriors.”

“How many are there?”

There was no answer.

“Megatronus?” Orion raised his voice, trying to suppress his panic. “How many?”

“It looks like… all of them.”

***

The next two hours went in a desperate flight: Orion was driving on top of his speed, not caring for the state of his tires or the painful overheating of his engine. Megatronus circled him in silence, sometimes going back to hunt for those warriors who strayed away from the main hunting party. But it didn’t help much: slowly but steadily the distance between them was growing smaller; Orion could already hear the war cries and the faint thunder. The sound was off, though… Like it didn’t only come from behind.

And then Megatronus dove down from the height, finishing his nosedive right overhead.

“Orion! Change of plans! There is a passage between the mountains. We go through, to the other side.”

“We aren’t going to hide?”

“No; there is a much better chance. Trust me!”

“Okay,” Orion agreed. This wasn’t the time to argue. Megatronus knew these lands, so if he saw a better chance on the other side of the ridge, Orion had to rely on his judgement.

The passage was a narrow canyon coiling between the jagged, crumbling walls of stone and metal. The rock was old, slowly being crushed into sand by savage storms and baring its metal foundation, resembling a skeleton stripped of armor and wiring. Like everything on Cybertron, even the mountains were dying.

Orion had to slow down in order to avoid colliding with something or causing a landslide.  The only consolation was that their pursuers would have to do the same; in addition, they would have to drive one-by-one, making them better targets. Was that the chance Megatronus was talking about?

But when the canyon finally ended and they saw the open desert ahead, Orion couldn’t stifle a gasp.

All over the horizon, from the sandy plain to the darkening sky, there was a huge rusty cloud of dust: a desert storm, the violent and merciless force of nature. It didn’t matter who a bot was, if they lived in Iacon or in the Citadel – when a sandstorm was coming, everybody ran and hid. They found corpses of those unlucky bots who didn’t have a roof sturdy enough: a broken mess of parts that used to be mechs and femmes lifted into the air and then thrown to the ground, limbs twisted by the whirlwinds.

So this was the source of the vague thunder – and this was what Megatronus saw from above.

“Megatronus! We must hide!” Orion scanned the area for a cave or a niche, all his instincts screaming.

“No. First we must see what Zeta’s party does.”

“What?!” Orion’s first urge was to transform into root mode and shake Megatronus to get these stupid ideas out of his head.

“We go along the mountain ridge. If they stay in the canyon, we hide.”

“And if not?”

“And if they’re stupid enough to follow us with a sandstorm coming… they deserve to be ripped apart.”

“Damn it,” Orion grunted, but started his engine again. They didn’t have a second to lose.

So he drove, the mountains to his right and the storm front to his left, closing down on them like another wall of rock threatening to crush them. Megatronus’s plating rattled, shaken by the brutal blows of wind. And in a few kliks the vanguard of the Citadel’s army appeared behind them – much faster than expected. They were in range of Orion’s sensors now, and for a brief second Orion forgot about the storm: he recognized the heavily armored transport in the front.

“Zeta’s here?!” he exclaimed, vocalizer stuttering.

“Seems like we were really important to him,” Megatronus rasped darkly, dodging a cannon blast.

Behind Zeta Orion spotted a purple tank – so Tarn was here too. He alone didn’t hesitate to follow his leader, while the rest of the party stalled, some transforming and pointing at the storm.

“Onward, onward!” Orion heard Zeta shouting. “Get them!”

“So that’s how it’s gonna be,” Megatronus murmured. “Orion! Turn left!”

“Are you insane?! We’ll be going right into the storm!”

“Exactly.” Megatronus descended, his hull now almost touching Orion’s cabin. “They’re travelling light, and you haul a full fuel pod. If I drop on top of you, it should be just enough weight to keep us on the ground.”

“ _Should_ be?!”

“It’s either this, or we let them catch us.”

Without further arguments, Orion swerved to the left. There was more shouting behind them: Zeta rallying his troops, Tarn yelling at them for being cowards, and then the warriors trying to lift their own spirits. Laser fire burned the sand behind Orion’s wheels, but the shots moved higher after Zeta roared:

“Watch it, you rust buckets!!! Don’t harm my scribe!”

This whipped Orion up more than anything. Now the fire was concentrated on Megatronus, who had a hard time dodging it while fighting the impending storm, clearly having trouble with staying airborne. Orion was having troubles himself: sand and dust was thrown against his windshield, getting into his seams. He tightened his plating, protecting the joints as well as he could; the light of day was fading rapidly around him, the rusty cloud blocking the sun, and now there was nothing ahead but the bellowing tempest.

“Megatronus! Down!” he cried, and the jet obeyed: in the next moment his full weight dropped on Orion, making him lose the speed; he sensed Megatronus transform and grasp at the trailer’s hitches.

And then they entered the storm front.

All other sounds disappeared, overcome be the swishing of the wind, thundering growls of the storm and the crackles of lightning. Everything around them was a mass of flying sand, the reddish gloom cut by white flashes now and then. The trailer was swiveling behind Orion, but the hitches held – or rather, Megatronus held them. Orion felt his weight on top of him – the only anchor in this raging madness – and so far his wheels were still on the ground.

Another lightning bolt illuminated their way, and Orion saw some helpless figures flying past him, caught by a tornado. The dark mass behind them that had to be Zeta’s army was being ripped apart, just as Megatronus predicted, pieces of it – pieces that were individual mechs – being torn and thrown to the side like trash.

“The storm will do the job for us!” Megatronus yelled into his audial, and still Orion barely heard him, more guessing the meaning. He had no time to fully grasp what was said; the only thing on Orion’s mind now was the blind, deaf need to _drive_ : forward, only forward, with all his might! Drive forward until his wheels get ground down to the axles, and then maybe they would come out of this alive.

***

Orion drove even when the sky became blue again, even when the residual dust from the storm settled; he wouldn’t have stopped if the additional weight from his back didn’t vanish. This caused a short jolt of panic that made Orion stop – and only then did he realize that the storm front was behind them, and so far nobody else had exited it.

He transformed into his root mode, pausing for a moment just to collect himself. His joints creaked and hurt, obviously full of sand now, and his legs – the plating was the color of dirt now, the scuffed patches of blue peeking through the layer of dust. The rest of his plating seemed to be in the same condition.

Orion shook his head, trying to fight off the sudden dizziness – and then he finally saw Megatronus’s limp form lying on the ground further behind.

A short cry escaped Orion’s lips, and he dashed to his friend, energon rushing in his audials.

“Megatronus!” He nearly tripped as he ran, and fell on his knees next to the motionless frame. “Megatronus! Are you…”

The warrior grasped Orion’s wrist and jerked up into a sitting position, raising a clenched fist – but relaxed promptly upon seeing the familiar face.

“Orion!” The wild glint in his red optics died out, and he pressed a hand to his chest. “Scrap…”

“Are you okay?” Orion studied his friend’s frame, and the results were discouraging: Megatronus got through the storm in his root mode, and his face was furrowed with deep scratches and scars; his previous injuries were ravaged by the sand and eroded. “Primus…” Orion touched the edge of a large wound on Megatronus’s chest where an armored plate was ripped off, but the warrior waved his hand away.

“Fine… I’m fine.” He rose to his feet with some difficulty and looked back at the distant storm. “Seems like Zeta’s army is done for.”

“Seems so…” Orion echoed, but Megatronus locked optics with him.

“Don’t you understand what it means?” Despite his battered state, he was grinning. “We are free!”

A couple of second went by, and Orion’s face slowly lit up.

“Free…” He repeated with wonder in his voice, as if tasting the new word for the first time. “Free from Zeta. Free from the Citadel!” He beamed, life suddenly returning into his weary frame.

“And no so-called Prime will ever order us around again!” Megatronus spread his arms, stretching, and laughed. “We’re gonna find that Vector Sigma! What does your Key say?”

Orion dug into his subspace and took out the Key. It survived the crazy chase perfectly well, the delicate plates as smooth and shiny as before. Raising the Key, Orion waved it around until it tinkled a familiar gentle tune, glowing bright blue.

“South-east, as before.”

“The Sea of Rust is that way.” Megatronus rubbed his chin in thought. “I wonder if we’ll have to cross it.”

“Is it that bad?”

“Well, we survived the sandstorm, didn’t we?” Megatronus shrugged. Nothing could soil his good mood. “And I did cross it once before, so I can vouch that it’s possible.”

“Are you able to fly?” Orion frowned at Megatronus’s wounds. “Maybe we should take care of those first?”

“I say, we put some distance between us and the remnants of Zeta’s army first – if there are any. If somebody did survive, they’ll have to turn back, since they didn’t take the fuel tanks with them.” Megatronus appeared pretty smug. “I think I’ll manage flight. We’ll have to make a stop to refuel sooner or later, and we’ll deal with repairs then.”

“Fine.” Orion had no desire to argue. If Megatronus said he could manage, then he could. Besides, the joy was still bubbling in Orion’s veins, and it was reasonable to put this energy to good use.

He transformed, attached the trailer again, and they set off.

***

“That’s everyone we managed to gather, my Prime.” Brawl gestured at the ragtag group of shabby and miserable warriors. “As far as I can tell, we lost about five tanks, four heavy transports, thirteen trucks, twenty-seven pursuit vehicles and all our fliers, and that’s only those whose bodies we found.” He made a pause. “Our troops need repairs, my Prime. Maybe if we go back…”

“Back?!” Zeta Prime rose to his full height, towering even over the bulky tankformer. “An Imperator dares to betray me, makes away with _my_ scribe – and you say we go back?!” He raised his voice, and the scattered survivors of the once fearsome army perked up, searching their lord’s face for hope and solace. “This was the ultimate crime – a sacrilege! These two apostates defied the will of the Prime, and their punishment will find them!”

The warriors’ cheer would have been more impressive if the voices were more numerous and didn’t belong to half-dead bots.

“Pathetic,” Tarn’s deep baritone murmured behind Zeta’s back. “My lord Prime, if I may make a suggestion?”

“Yes, what is it?” Right now Zeta had no patience for formalities.

“I know Megatronus well; he used to teach me, and I’m familiar with his battle tactics more than anyone in the Citadel. I can track him – and I can defeat him.” Tarn stepped forward and went down on one knee before Zeta. “If that will be your order, my Prime.”

Zeta tilted his head, observing the kneeling figure.

“I always believed you admired and cared for your mentor,” he said after a pause.

Tarn looked up at him, red optics wide and flaring in the slits of his mask.

“Not after what he did, my Prime!” Tarn exclaimed, his voice ringing with fury. “Not after he betrayed you, stomped on the gifts you offered him! I shall find him, and I shall be his punishment – if so you wish!”

Zeta contemplated him for another klik – and then nodded sagely.

“Very well, Tarn, my loyal Imperator.” He placed a palm on Tarn’s head. All the warriors’ optics were focused on them as Zeta’s words boomed over the desert.

“You shall become my punishment – the extension of my hand, the unstoppable storm that will smite the apostates.” He locked optics with Tarn. “Bring me Megatronus’s head,” he proclaimed, “and you will become my First Imperator.” But just as Tarn prepared to burst with praise and gratitude, Zeta raised a finger. “Just remember: do not damage my scribe! I want him alive and unharmed. Brawl, collect the energon from the corpses and drain the weakest survivors, if needed. I want my punisher capable of long-distance travel.” He waited for Brawl to salute and get to business, and then turned his attention back to the Imperator. “Fulfill this task, Tarn,” Zeta smiled under the mask, his tone becoming intimate, “and in our glorious future you will ride eternal by my side.”

By this time Tarn’s entire frame was shaking in reverence.

“As you command, my lord Prime!” He jumped to his feet and transformed. “I will not fail you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was all action, the next is going to be more realtionship-y and talk-y. :)


	7. Chapter 7

Only when the sky behind their backs turned purple and their fuel tanks started pinging them insistently, did Orion and Megatronus stop. The same barren emptiness surrounded them for miles, so it didn’t matter where to stop for repairs and recharge.

They transformed to their root modes and sagged on the ground with their backs to the fuel tank’s hull, which was still warm after the hot day. It felt strange to sit in one place after the long drive; Orion’s tires were tingling, trying to go into a spin now and then. He allowed himself to lean on the trailer and shut his optics for a second, just to collect himself. Just a moment of peace.

He was taken out of it by something poking his arm.

“Here.” Orion opened his optics to see Megatronus offer him a fuel hose. The warrior’s scarred lips glistened in the dim twilight – apparently, he had already drank some.

Without a word, Orion took the hose. The first drops of energon brought his fuel system to life, and suddenly Orion realized just how hungry he was. He started gulping down the energon greedily; only after the arrow on his HUD reached 50% he managed to take a pause. Megatronus was watching him with amusement. Orion’s antennas heated up, and he offered his friend the hose.

They sat like this, passing the hose to each other until their tanks were full. Then it was put back to the compartment on the underside of the trailer, and they busied themselves with Megatronus’s injuries. They looked nasty, but before anything could be done to them, the sand had to be cleaned off.

It was quite an unpleasant procedure, yet Orion helped Pharma often enough to suppress his squeamishness. Megatronus was capable of tending to his wounds himself, but only to those he could reach well. When it came to the gashes on his back, he had to submit himself to Orion’s nimble fingers.

“It was madness, going into this storm,” Orion murmured, scratching the bared inner components from the worn-in grains in the faint yellow circle of his headlight. Megatronus’s frame was trembling slightly from pain, but the warrior kept still. “Although it did save us.”

“Sometimes crazy plans are the best plans,” Megatronus replied, stiff but grateful for the distraction. “The storm swept our pursuers away.”

“Yeah,” Orion winced in sympathy as he had to worry the edge of the torn armor plate to get out the sand stuck underneath it. “You know what I don’t understand? Why the guards from the hangar bay didn’t follow me right away. I mean, they had to wake up when I drove off with their fuel pod!”

Megatronus chuckled.

“I don’t think they could. I took care of them, as I promised.”

Orion’s fingers stopped.

“What do you mean by ‘took care of’?” Something in his stomach lurched.

“What do you think?” Megatronus sounded obscenely unconcerned. Orion straightened his back slowly, the memories returning to him: that smell of spilled energon, unmoving forms of the mechs he deemed sleeping…

“You killed them?” Orion recoiled, his spark icy cold. “You killed them in recharge!”

“Well, yeah.” Megatronus glanced over his shoulder. “What’s the problem?”

Orion shook his head, unable to comprehend what he had just heard.

“The problem? The problem is that you murdered recharging mechs in cold blood! They didn’t even do anything!”

Megatronus turned around fully this time.

“I murdered a whole bunch of bots today, if you haven’t noticed. Somehow it didn’t seem to bother you?”

“It was in self-defense!” Orion jumped to his feet. “They attacked, you fought them! But those guards – and mechanics, Primus – they were helpless! Sleeping!”

“They would’ve joined the chase if I didn’t off them preemptively!” Megatronus stood up too, and Orion made a step back – somehow he forgot just how tall and imposing the (former) Imperator was. And how frightening he was when irate. “I got rid of them before they could attack!”

“So you’re going to what, destroy everybody who may possibly stand in your way someday?” It was reckless; Orion shouldn’t provoke this warrior, this raider who, as Orion had just learned, had no qualms about harming or taking lives; they were in a desert, alone, and Orion couldn’t really defend himself… But none of this registered right now. Orion was burning, his engine revving angrily, and his hands were balled into fists. “Megatronus, this is exactly why Cybertron is scrap! Because everyone is killing everyone, lives don’t matter, words don’t matter, our world was killed and we’re murdering each other over its carcass! Killing doesn’t solve anything!”

“Really?” Megatronus leaned over Orion, red optics gleaming in the dark like embers. “It seems to me that killing solved a lot of our problems today. But I forgot, you didn’t do any of it – just enjoyed the spoils!”

“That’s different! This was self-defense! But hurting people – how did you say – preemptively? That’s wrong! That’s Zeta’s way!”

“Oh, I don’t know; I think if I succeeded at murdering Zeta in his sleep, the world would only thank me.” Megatronus crossed his arms.

The sudden idea made Orion freeze.

“Did you try it? In the past?”

“Of course I did.” Megatronus’s upper lip twitched, baring his sharp dental plates. “Failed, unfortunately. But I did manage to put the blame on Clench, the former First Imperator. Zeta made a fine lamp out of him.” Megatronus cast a sharp glance at Orion. “I believe he was the one who sacked Iacon for the first time.”

Orion faltered. The image of Alpha Trion’s maimed corpse flashed before his optics, and for a klik he felt dark satisfaction – but it faded just as it appeared, leaving only grief and emptiness.

“Still,” Orion said stubbornly. “Promise me, Megatronus. No more unnecessary killing.”

“Define ‘unnecessary’.”

“If your life doesn’t depend on it directly.” He caught Megatronus’s gaze and held it. “Please.”

The warrior snarled, then grumbled something under his breath – and finally shrugged.

“We’ll see how it goes.”

He didn’t look enthusiastic or particularly convinced, but at least that was something.

“Okay.” Orion went silent, unsure of himself. The confrontation had ended, and he faced the full consequences at last: the comfortable atmosphere and the subtle sense of camaraderie between them was gone, now sullied with tension and mutual wariness. For the first time since the idea of escape came to them, Orion wondered if he should’ve considered his company more carefully.

But here he was; the point of no returned was passed.

“I haven’t finished with your wounds,” Orion murmured, and shivered when he heard how meek he sounded. “Sit down?”

Megatronus hesitated, but then turned his back to Orion and flopped on the ground with a thump.

They haven’t spoken to each other anymore.

***

They drove (or, in Megatronus’s case, flew) for three days without recharge, only stopping to refuel, adamant on losing the unlikely yet possible pursuit. Sometimes Orion took out the Key to check directions, but so far nothing changed: the Key pointed south-east. All this time Orion and Megatronus barely exchanged a couple of words, speaking only out of necessity.

Finally, at the end of the third day, they resolved to make a proper break. Their engines were overworked, processors began glitching and were in clear need of a defrag.

They refueled and confirmed the previously established order of keeping watch (they decided earlier that Megatronus got the first shift and would wake Orion in the middle of the night). But before going to sleep Orion wanted to do something he itched to do for the entire journey. He took out his tool kit – and, to his surprise, noticed that Megatronus did the same. Were his wounds healing badly? A far as Orion could see, the crude patches he made were holding fine (if looking a bit on the ugly side)…

But instead of tending to his old injuries, Megatronus started creating a new one: he aimed a blowtorch at the brand on his chest and activated it, clenching his jaws. Orion’s own mechanisms constricted as he watched the armor slowly heat up, until finally it glowed orange and began melting. It should be agonizing… And yet Orion thought he understood why Megatronus put himself through this torture, for Zeta’s brand was dissolving in the molten metal.

Finally Megatronus switched the blowtorch off and, grunting through gritted dental plates, started smoothening the metal out, putting it into shape and cooling it down. The amateur work left a tuberous scar, but Zeta’s sigil was gone.

Orion side-eyed his own brand on his shoulder. He wanted it gone too… But there was something else he intended to do first.

He studied his tool kit for a klik and picked up a small hacksaw. At least it looked safer than a laser cutter… or a blowtorch.

Biting his lip, Orion put the tip of the hacksaw to the largest weld scar on his interface panel and started rubbing. The metal screeched, and Orion’s valve contracted underneath the panel at the sight of the saw’s teeth so close to his privates. But, scary as it was, he had to do this. His body belonged to him, and only to him! It didn’t matter whether Orion used a certain function or not; he had a right to choose.

The saw glided over the panel, scraping the panel but missing the scar every other second, but Orion wasn’t going to give up. He froze, though, when he heard Megatronus call his name.

Orion cast a hunted glance at the warrior. For a brief moment the idea to make himself vulnerable seemed a terrible one; Orion might’ve hated being controlled like that, but his welded interface panel did guard him from the Citadel mechs’ unwanted attention.

But Megatronus appeared deliberately neutral and unthreatening, so Orion calmed down a little.

“What?” he asked.

“Come here.” Megatronus made a beckoning gesture, and Orion obeyed.

Megatronus took the hacksaw from his hand and inspected Orion’s panel – a cold, indifferent procedure that helped Orion to fight off his embarrassment (and not a small amount of fear). Finally Megatronus put the hacksaw away, picking up a crowbar instead, hooked a claw into Orion’s pelvic joint, wiggled it until he found something, and inserted the crowbar’s tip into the seam.

“This is gonna hurt,” he warned, and Orion nodded, fingers curling.

It hurt like hell – every time Megatronus located and broke a lock holding Orion’s pelvic armor in place. Orion counted them as he tried and failed to stifle the yelps of pain, until finally Megatronus put the hacksaw away and delved his claws into Orion’s seams again.

The pelvic plating came off in one piece – not only the interface panel, but everything around it as well. Orion shuddered as the cool desert wind blew at the tender components that hadn’t been exposed for many, many years.

Megatronus turned Orion’s pelvic armor around and hummed, studying the underside.

“Go sit somewhere, it’ll take a while,” he muttered, reaching for his own tool kit. Orion had nothing to do but to comply.

He went to his side of the trailer and folded his legs, sitting on his haunches to avoid touching the rough sand with his naked interface array. He was still painfully aware of the components he almost forgot existed: after being covered and untouched for so long, they became hypersensitive, and the lightest wind felt like a caress. The mere thought of the sand underneath Orion’s valve lips made them tickle, adding to the variety of sensations.

He shifted, fruitlessly trying to find the comfortable position. Megatronus was crouched over Orion’s panel, the fire of the laser cutter illuminating his face with a wavering light, but after just one glance at the warrior Orion blushed and fixed his optics on the ground. He was in the middle of nowhere, completely alone with Megatronus, his interface array exposed and free for the taking. It sent a shiver down Orion’s spine, and he had a hard time deciding if it was unpleasant.

Megatronus paid no attention to him.

Several kliks passed in silence, and Orion jumped when he heard Megatronus’s call:

“There! Done.”

Turning his head, Orion discovered that Megatronus had the laser cutter switched off, and Orion’s pelvic plating raised up like a trophy.

“Come, I’ll put it back on you.”

Orion gulped; okay, _that_ he didn’t think of.

Megatronus’s fingers were firm, but deft and business-like as they ran along Orion’s naked seams, putting the plating back in place. Orion held his breath, doing his best to stand still and not flinch when those deadly claws brushed against the edge of his interface array, adjusting the panels. Megatronus didn’t touch his valve or spike cover… but they were _right there_.

Orion’s antennas had to be glowing red in the dark, and it took all of his self-control to keep his cooling fans from kicking in. He… He didn’t want to give unwanted signals. Didn’t want to give Megatronus an idea… Although it was hard _not_ to get the idea while messing around with somebody’s interface array.

The worst thing was, Orion didn’t know at all how he’d react if something happened. If Megatronus’s claws moved a little to the side. Orion was used to fearing interface – how could he not, living in the Citadel? – but he remembered the times before the Citadel, when he was still with his mentor. He used to think about it (especially after reading a certain kind of stories), even touch himself tentatively when Alpha Trion was in recharge. And Megatronus was… a friend? Sure, they had their disagreements, and Megatronus could be pretty terrifying, but he was still being civil with Orion… It shouldn’t be bad with someone Orion liked. Right?

His musing were interrupted in a very unabashed way by Megatronus himself.

“Alright,” he said, lifting a blowtorch. “Since I broke the locks that held your plating, I’ll have to weld it back. And this…”

“Will hurt,” Orion finished for him. “Obviously.” That was the most non-sexual thing he had ever expected to hear in such circumstances, and his flustered state was gone in a second. “It’s okay. I can take it.” He spread his legs wider, giving Megatronus more space, and prepared himself. “Go on.”

Megatronus cast a short glance at him, something very similar to respect glimmering in his red optics, and Orion’s foolish spark bloomed with warmth. Right when he was ready for a perfectly neutral, interface-unrelated medical procedure….

“Grab my shoulders,” Megatronus warned, and as soon as Orion followed the advice, he switched on the blowtorch.

“Aaah! Ah! Scrap! Uuuuugh,” Orion bit his lip in attempt to hold back the screams. It hurt even more than before, molten metal scalding the tender wiring, and Orion’s fingers creaked, wringing the thick spikes of Megatronus’s shoulder armor. Yet the touches of the blowtorch were short and precise, welding the broken locks to the pelvic plates. “Scraap!”

“There you go.” Orion didn’t even understand at first that the execution has ended. Megatronus was patting his numb and stiff hand that was still holding onto the spiky shoulder armor. With some effort, Orion managed to loosen his fingers and step back. The fresh welds ached and burned, but he felt whole again.

“I fixed the panel, you should be able to open it at will.” Megatronus leaned back, propping himself on his hands. “Try it.”

Orion sent a command – and his interface did indeed retract! With a screech and not as smoothly and fast as before, but it did!

“Primus,” Orion breathed out, closing the panel, and looked back at Megatronus, unable to suppress the wide, awed smile that was blooming on his lips. “You’re amazing! Thank you!”

Megatronus appeared… taken aback. “Yeah, um, no problem.” He concentrated on sorting out his repair tools, but Orion kept standing before him. And right when Megatronus began to look uncomfortable, Orion blurted out:

“I’m sorry I told you off.” He paused, gathering up courage to continue. “About the guards you killed. I know you were trying to secure our escape, and I don’t know if we’d be sitting here if you hadn’t done that.” Megatronus stared at him in shock, but Orion wasn’t finished. “We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. Thank you.”

“Um.” And now great Megatronus was at a loss of words. “No problem.” He hesitated for a little more, and then added: “No unnecessary killing, I remember. I can’t promise it, but I’ll try.”

This time, it sounded sincere. Orion smiled as the air of estrangement dissipated around them.

“So,” Megatronus returned his smile. “Do you want me to do something about yours?” He gestured at Zeta’s brand on Orion’s shoulder.

“Let me guess: this will hurt.” Orion let out a short laugh. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

***

The sandstorm did a good job covering the truck’s tracks, but Tarn wasn’t disheartened. It simply made his mission longer and more complicated, and he wasn’t intimidated by either. So what if he had to search every inch of the desert? Sooner or later his prey would become careless; they’d stop hiding their tracks, and then nothing will save the infidels from the Prime’s wrath.

Tarn was going to hunt them down and bring the divine punishment upon their heads. Nobody defies the great Zeta Prime; nobody betrays him!

Especially not the one who used to have Tarn’s absolute trust.

***

Zeta Prime’s return to the Citadel was joyless and humiliating. Pharma just sighed when he saw the pathetic display: judging by the condition of the surviving warriors, he’d have his medbay full for several days. On the other hand, it was for the best: as long as Pharma was indispensable, he’d be safe from Zeta’s wrath.

Slagging scribe; when Pharma installed a t-cog inside him, he’d never guess that the dumb glitch would run away! Who in their sane mind ran away from the only safe place in the desert? It had to be Megatronus who filled Orion’s head with stupid ideas; foolish Orion, allowing to sway himself like this. No bot was worth sacrificing your own position, no matter how much of a sweet-talker he was.

Pharma was patching up another warrior when the door to the medbay swung open, and the floor shook under heavy footsteps. Pharma was going to snap at the brute who was disturbing him mid-operation, but the yell got stuck in his throat when he saw who it was.

“Hello, Treasure,” Zeta Prime rumbled, narrow blue optics burrowing into him from the slit between the facemask and the horned helmet.

“My Prime!” Pharma drew back from the medical slab, but Zeta just raised his palm, shutting the medic up.

“I won’t take much of your time. I only have one little thing to tell you, my dear doctor. Orion Pax wasn’t supposed to have a t-cog, yet he drove away in a truck mode.”

Pharma opened his mouth, trying to recollect all the explanations he came up with.

“My lord Prime, I…”

 He had no chance to finish, because Zeta rammed into him, throwing the slab with the unconscious warrior to the wall, and grabbed Pharma’s throat.

“I don’t want excuses or apologies, Treasure,” he growled into his face as Pharma was clawing at Zeta’s armored fingers. “I’ve lost my scribe, half of my army, my First Imperator – and I don’t have the culprits in my hands… yet.” He leaned even closer, basking in the dawning understanding in Pharma’s optics. “What I want, dear doctor, is _satisfaction_.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE!  
> Sorry for the delay, everyone. Real life has been owning me, but no worries: I'm still writing this story, albeit slowly.

The wind threw another cloud of dust into Megatronus’s grilles, and his engine stalled, wheezing. His filters were torn to shreds by the sandstorm, so the tiny grains were clogging his turbines. Cursing under his breath, he regained control over his mechanisms, forcing them to work.

“Megatronus?” Orion has already expressed his concern twice this day, and every time his voice was growing more worried.

“It’s fine. We shouldn’t stop, Orion.”

“I wasn’t going to suggest it.” That Megatronus doubted. “But maybe you could sit on top of me? It’s not that we need you airborne, and you can save up fuel this way.”

The idea hadn’t even crossed Megatronus’s mind.

“I’m quite heavy. Besides, it will slow you down, and you will use up more fuel by hauling double weight.”

“Still less than what you use for flight.” Orion tactfully didn’t mention Megatronus’s injuries (that were, apparently, “fine”), and Megatronus wondered if he should growl at the scribe or be proud of him. For such a naïve bot Orion was surprisingly skilled at having his way by words.

On the other hand, Orion did live in Zeta’s possession for a long time.

“Very well.” Without further objections Megatronus descended and transformed into his root mode, landing on top of the moving trailer. Orion yelped, but held his balance.

“You could wait until I stopped,” he said, reproach clear in his voice.

“I thought you weren’t going to suggest stopping.” Megatronus didn’t bother to hide a smug smirk. He was impressed, though: Orion had troubles when the Citadel’s fliers attacked him, but it appeared like he was learning from his mistakes.

And Orion drove on, slower due to the additional weight, but still at remarkable speed.

“You are quite sturdy.” Megatronus lied down on his stomach and grabbed onto Orion’s wind deflector to lessen the air resistance. “Not something Zeta expected from his scribe, I believe.”

Orion’s chassis vibrated under his hands in embarrassment.

“I, um… Thank you.” He paused. “What did _you_ expect?”

“Me?” Megatronus tilted his head, pressing his cheek to the elbow. “To be honest, I expected you to have problems with driving and stamina – you spent many years without a t-cog, after all. But you adjust very fast, and you pack more power than you look.”

Orion coughed.

“Oh. Huh. Thanks, I guess?” He made a strange unintelligible sound. “Ever heard the phrase ‘brutal honesty’?”

“You mean you didn’t like what I said?” Megatronus sighed, his entire body relaxing under the rays of sun, tired joints finally getting a rest. “You shouldn’t have asked then.”

“No, I… I don’t think I didn’t like it.” Orion sounded surprised by his own notion. “But wow, you _are_ straightforward.”

“Hey, I know where to draw the line. I wouldn’t tell Zeta in the face that he’s a lying, fragged-up madman.” Megatronus’s upper lip twitching in a subtle snarl. “But you are not Zeta. When you ask, I want to give you the real answer.”

“I appreciate it,” Orion said quietly.

***

“It’s not how I expected the desert to be.” Orion’s voice snapped Megatronus out of his drowsy state. “I always thought it was full of marauders and scavengers, but we haven’t as much as seen anybody since the storm.”

“That’s because we’re nearing the Sea of Rust.” Megatronus clamped down his plating on an instinct, claws curling around the edge of Orion’s wind deflector. “Nobody wants to live there.”

“That terrible?”

“Imagine a vast plain covered in puddles of acid and corrosives. In the summer it dries out, and the wind carries around thick clouds of rusty dust that clogs your intake and erodes your systems. Between the seasons it’s the source of endless acid rains and poisonous vapors. Now imagine that this plain goes on for miles and miles.”

“Remind me why we are going there?” Orion’s chassis visibly shuddered. “Can’t we drive around it?”

“Your Key points right into it. Who knows, maybe Vector Sigma is hidden in the middle of the Sea of Rust.” Besides, this kept them away from Vosian territory, and Megatron had bad memories about the Winglords’ hospitality.

“Speaking of which, let me check the directions.” Orion hit the brakes and transformed, opening his subspace.

Megatronus transformed too and jumped to the ground, suppressing a growl of annoyance, his good mood gone. The Key gleamed and hummed in Orion’s palms, still pointing south-east.

Megatronus’s patience, already thinned with every check-up on the Key, ran out.

“Why does it only react to you?!” he exclaimed, glaring at the tiny metal plate. No matter what Megatronus did with it, no matter how he held it, the Key remained lifeless in his clawed hand.

“We don’t know if it only reacts to me.” Orion didn’t seem to have noticed his friend’s tone. “Maybe it reacts to Iaconians, or to groundframes, or to scribes only. Unfortunately, we have no ways to prove it.” Now he looked crestfallen by the impossibility of satisfying his scientific curiosity, and Megatronus’s ire dissipated, forcing an indistinct grunt from his throat. It was hard to be angry at Orion for too long, and this made the warrior uncomfortable.

“It’s almost sunset; let’s stay here for the night.” Megatronus preferred to busy himself with the fuel hose. His wounds were still aching, and, although he was capable of moving forward in much worse conditions, he wanted to save his strength for the Sea of Rust. Crossing it the last time almost cost him his life, and he didn’t have a groundframe companion with a heavy load to slow him down.

They refueled and settled with their backs to the trailer, as always. The air was cooling down, daily heat giving place to the night’s cold, but for now it was almost pleasant.

Almost – because Megatronus still couldn’t get used to the quiet. In the Citadel there were always people around, and even in the deadest hour, in the luxurious solitude of his room, Megatronus could hear the patrolling guard’s steps and the rattle of his armor. The crowded lower levels were filled with the sounds of sleeping mechs’ hoarse venting, the creaks of the Citadel’s machines, soft murmur of those having recharge dreams. Megatronus got so used to it that he forgot what true silence was like, and the night desert made him feel deaf.

Perhaps Orion had the same problem, for he squirmed in his place.

“Hey, Megatronus…” Blue irises glimmered brighter in the dusk. “Do you want me to read a play for you?” He dug into his subspace and took out the too-familiar old datapad.

Megatronus’s optics widened.

“You took it with you?!”

Orion shifted again.

“I know the idea was to take only bare necessities… But this was your present.” Orion’s fingers stroked the edge of the datapad. “I didn’t want to leave it. And I promised to teach you the secondary glyphs, remember? We’d need reading material for this.”

He was babbling, but Megatronus already got over his shock.

“I doubt it’ll be a burden, it weights too little.” Activating the datapad would require their precious fuel, but for once Megatronus chose to ignore the voice of reason. “And yes, I’d like you to read a play. Maybe that second one, with Swiftstrike avenging her dead lover?”

“You like it?” Orion’s antennas perked up. “I love it so much! _‘And let the Chaos Bringer have my spark, his blood burn down my veins and desecrate me, if only Racer’s murderer descends ahead of me in Unicron’s possession!’_ It’s so fierce and yet so sad.”

“Sad? Why is it sad?” Megatronus tilted his head. “Swiftstrike avenged Racer and made her enemies pay. She knew what she was doing and why.”

“But after she drank the blood of Unicron she will never be able to enter the Afterspark.” Orion’s face darkened. “She will never be reunited with Racer; she gave it up for revenge.”

“Really?” Megatronus furrowed his eyebrows. “That’s what her last speech was about?” He didn’t quite understand it back when Orion was reading the play for the first time, but Megatronus was too invested in the story as a whole to pay much attention to that little part. He paused for a moment, assessing the new information, and shrugged. “I don’t know, it doesn’t change anything for me. Zeta speaks a lot about the Afterspark too, how his loyal servants will ride into eternity with him, but we both know it’s a load of scrap. I don’t see how this is different.”

“You don’t believe in the Afterspark?”

“I can’t believe in something when there is no proof it exists. Do you?”

The question actually made Orion hesitate.

“I…” He sighed. “I don’t know. I want to believe in the Afterspark, but I honestly don’t know. Although it doesn’t matter for the story if we believe in it or not.” He lightened up. “What matters is that the characters believe, and don’t you think it makes the ending even more dramatic?”

“Just read it again.” Megatronus smiled at him. “And we’ll see.”

***

Megatronus hummed as he flew, Orion’s blue and red chassis moving on the ground below. His wound were healing well, and the more they approached the Sea of Rust, the trickier the ground became; now additional weight on Orion’s back brought more problems than advantages.

Various lines from the play they read yesterday were flowing through Megatronus’s mind to the rhythm of his spark’s beating. Poetry was awfully easy to remember – and very nice to repeat in his head during the flight. Even more than that, it was contagious: Megatronus didn’t spot the moment when the selected lines he memorized changed into new lines that Swiftstrike could’ve said, and then to Megatronus’s own thoughts – still organized in columns and rhyming like the poetry Orion was so fond of. It was strange, but Megatronus quite enjoyed the effect. It was like creating another story, a different adventure for Swiftstrike – only this time Megatronus could pour his own ideas into it.

If only he knew of this game back in the mines! The long, dreary days of exhausting work would’ve been a little brighter if he could distract himself with putting words in columns and making up stories. So much more fun than the counting songs they used to sing!

But even as immersed in the new game as he was, Megatronus never lost his vigilance, so when he spotted something weird ahead, he called for a halt immediately.

“What is it?” Orion didn’t transform into his root mod, but his engine revved, betraying his tension. “Attackers?”

“No.” Megatronus dove down from his short scouting flight. “It looks like a hole in the ground… a giant round one.” For a brief moment all the stories miners used to tell with hushed voices arose in his memory, stories of monstrous beasts dwelling in the Underworld. Megatronus had to bite his lip in order to get rid of the old fears; he had never seen any monsters underground – all monsters he knew wore mechs’ guises and lived in fortified towers high above the darkness of the mines.

“Maybe there was an earthquake? Although I’ve never heard of an earthquake that leaves round holes…” Orion finally transformed and put a finger to his lip, pensive. “Do you want to check it out?”

Megatronus didn’t reply for a while, contemplating the risks. He haven’t seen anyone at the hole, but then he didn’t check very thoroughly. The safest choice would be to leave the hole be – but those who made the safest choices didn’t survive in the desert. Every chance to discover and grab something useful was precious, and a hole could mean at least the remains of unlucky travelers who fell into it.

“Let’s check it out,” Megatronus decided, and Orion nodded with enthusiasm that never failed to bring a smile on Megatronus’s face.

***

The hole appeared round from above, but inside, under the layer of the ever-present sand, Megatronus and Orion could see some ragged shapes: mounds and ditches that created a strange kind of order, like a labyrinth of sorts.

Orion was the first to voice the suspicion that Megatronus shared:

“It’s a settlement!”

“Or rather, it was.” The corners of Megatronus’s mouth rose in a predatory smirk. He had never heard of a city in these lands – meaning that these ruins had been visible only for a short time. Perhaps an earthquake brought them to the surface, perhaps the cavern’s ceiling collapsed under its own weight – but what really mattered here was the possibility that this town hadn’t been looted yet.

He scanned the horizon again, looking for the slightest sign of movement, but it appeared they were alone here. Nevertheless, it was too good to be true. The ruins could be a bait…

“Orion, stay here with the fuel pod.” Megatronus stepped closer to the cliff. “If you spot anything suspicious, and I mean anything – a shadow, a weird noise – scream. Grab the trailer and drive, if you can.”

“You think this is an ambush?” Orion’s optics darted to the side.

“Could be. One of us has to guard the fuel if we want to explore.”

Megatronus braced for Orion’s objections, but the scribe just cast a forlorn glance at the town and nodded.

“Makes sense.” He placed a hand on the trailer hitch. “Be careful, okay?”

“Okay,” Megatronus replied automatically, his spark suddenly feeling too big and hot for its casing. There was survival and all that, but the fact that Orion – a scribe, a curious bot who took such joy in his freedom after ages of confinement – agreed to stay away from the ancient city so easily… That was another thing he didn’t expect.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised, surprising himself, and leaped into the air.

***

Due to the size of the hole, the sunlight reached the city below with no effort, but as Megatronus roamed the passages between half-destroyed walls, he realized that the ruins they saw from above were only a tiny part of the entire complex. The “streets” were turning into tunnels as they spidered away from the hole, reminding Megatronus of Tarnian mines where he was born.

Only these tunnels were no mines: they were tall and relatively clean, with polished walls and well-crafted doorways. The chambers Megatronus visited varied in size, from small ones that used to be living quarters to bigger ones that served as workshops or storage (Megatronus meticulously read every inscription he found). But what was common for all of them was how empty they were: no furniture, no machines, and no inhabitants – only bare, clean chunks of carcasses stripped of every spare part that could still be used.

The city was empty, so Megatronus returned to the hole and took flight.

Orion met him with an excited gasp, and Megatronus sighed in relief as he landed: the scribe was safe and in one piece, the trailer resting behind him right where they left it.

“Well? How did it go?!” Orion was almost skipping in his place.

Megatronus just smiled at him.

“Why don’t you go check by yourself?” He asked, and then added, basking in the exhilaration in Orion’s optics: “The city was raided a while ago, all useful things have been taken, so I doubt there are any scavengers there. We might still stumble upon something.”

Orion’s joy withered at these words.

“Raided?” He echoed, and Megatronus mentally slapped himself. Idiot! Of course Orion wouldn’t want to be reminded of his home’s destruction!

Especially since, now that Megatronus remembered it, Orion used to live in an underground shelter as well.

“You don’t have to go in there,” he blurted out hastily, energon rushing in his veins like when he missed a blow he should’ve seen coming. “I’ll go through the tunnels myself, it won’t take this long, just pick up anything we might use, and then we’ll leave.”

“No, it’s… It’s fine, please don’t worry!” Orion grabbed his hands, and the words got stuck in Megatronus’s vocalizer. There was something about that expression on Orion’s face, something reserved and yet determined.

“I want to go,” Orion continued, swallowing a lump in his throat. “But what do we do with the trailer?”

This ordinary, material question seemed so out of place that Megatronus needed a klik to come up with the pretty obvious answer.

“We take it down with us.”

***

Carrying the trailer was harder than Megatronus imagined (the blasted thing barely balanced on his jet form despite being tied by chains), so carrying Orion down afterwards was a relief. The scribe’s warm body fit the angles of Megatronus’s armor well, soft ex-vents caressing the visible part of his helm and sending shivers through his frame. He brushed these ideas off as he transformed back to his root mode, Orion already on his feet and looking around in awe.

They tied the fuel tank to a chunk of a wall with the same chains and went into the tunnels side-by side. Orion moved closer to Megatronus at the sight of the carcasses, blue optics flickering in the dark, but he never said anything. Megatronus wasn’t sure if this was a good thing.

Still, they continued their exploration. Sometimes there were burn marks and bullet holes littering the walls – the traces of a battle for the town. Megatronus was wondering who the attackers were, when they made another turn and stopped simultaneously.

It was a square hall, bare like everything in this raided town, but the largest they saw so far – and on the opposite wall there was a huge drawing: a symbol of a winged crown, painted with rough, rugged strokes of yellow. It looked so foreign on the smooth metal wall, so out of place here, that Megatronus had no doubts:

“I guess that’s the brand of the raiders who sacked this place.”

“Do you know it?” Orion tore his gaze from the imposing symbol.

“I don’t think so.” Megatronus frowned, going through all the sigils he was familiar with. “Might be one of the Winglords of Vos, there are what, fourteen of them?”

“Fourteen?” Orion blinked, thrown back for a moment. “But I read that in the past there was only one…”

“Well, apparently, there is more than one bot who wants to call themselves Winglord,” Megatronus shrugged. “Just as Zeta wanted to call himself ‘Prime’. Titles of power are always popular.”

Orion gazed back at the symbol.

“Let’s get out of here,” he muttered, and they almost turned back, when something caught Megatronus’s attention.

“Wait!” He dashed to the painted wall, for once fully sharing Orion’s excitement for new things. “Look, there is some inscription!” The tablet was screwed to the wall, and there was nothing on it except for the inscription, which Megatronus devoured with the same hunger he devoured any written material.

“Warning: entrance to the industrial hangar,” he read out loud, face warming with pride at how fluent and easy it had become. Now only to master the secondary glyphs… “Authorized personnel only.” He turned around to look at Orion. “I think this is a gate, not a wall!”

“Looks like it.” Orion studied the inscription, and suddenly his face lit up. “Do you think the raiders didn’t know it?! Maybe they missed the hangar because they couldn’t read this.” He gripped Megatronus’s elbow. “What if there are survivors inside?!”

Megatronus seriously doubted it, but he didn’t want to put out Orion’s hope like that.

“To learn it we must open the gate first.” Megatronus looked around the chamber once more. “Ideas?”

“I don’t see any instructions.” Orion squinted at the lone inscription. “’Authorized personnel only’…”

“With what’s left of the inhabitants, we will never tell who’s authorized and who’s not,” Megatronus murmured, and then banged on the wall – more out of habit than expecting something.

To his utter shock, something inside the gate clicked, a little window opened at the level of his head, and a yellow beam lightened up. It scanned Orion first, beeped a sharp negative, but then it switched to scan Megatronus… and turned green.

With a thunderous groan the gate began rising.

“What..?” Megatronus was left to stand before the opening gate, too dumbfounded to move.

“I know! I know!” Orion clapped his hands, blue optics shining. “It’s an industrial hangar! And you were a miner! It scanned your frame and thought you’re authorized!”

“What.” Never before had Megatronus considered that his mining frame would authorize him for anything. Yet the gate was open, and in the enormous hangar beyond them emergency lights went on, showing the outline of some big machine.

“It’s untouched,” Orion breathed out next to him. “It’s untouched! It has energy! Megatronus!” He tugged at his hand, and finally Megatronus was able to recover from his shock a little. Their optics met, and Orion’s smile was so bright it hurt. “We found an untouched shelter!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you wonder, [this](http://tfwiki.net/mediawiki/images2/2/23/Ratbat_symbol_Megatron_Origins.png) is the symbol Orion and Megatronus found.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE! (I die! I live again!)

At first Orion’s excitement left Megatronus reeling, while a sharp burning feeling nested in his gut. _There might be survivors_. People who live in an untouched shelter. These people would definitely defend themselves, they knew the terrain, and Megatronus’s jet mode lost its advantages underground…

But Orion’s voice echoed in the hangar unanswered. Megatronus’s shoulders guards slowly drooped, relaxing.

This place was empty.

The relief he experienced was so powerful he couldn’t even bring himself to sympathize with Orion, despite the scribe’s crestfallen expression. Lost treasures from the bygone age were a reason for joy; the presence of other bots was not.

Megatronus busied himself with exploration; now it was him who bubbled with enthusiasm, elated gasps escaping him whenever he found a box of spare parts or a generator. Orion just followed him around, trying to share the happiness and failing.

And the greatest prize stood right in the middle of the hangar: a crawler, so huge that its cabin could accommodate several bots of Megatronus and Orion’s size, with a cargo platform on its back and broad, heavy tracks.

Megatronus caressed the track, studying the giant machine in awe.

“He’re so… big!” He had never seen anything like this before. Was this what ancient bots looked like? “I don’t feel a sparkbeat. Is he dead?”

“I don’t think it ever had a spark.” Orion stepped closer, tone still sad and optics dim. “It’s not alive, Megatronus. It’s just a machine.”

“Just a machine?” Megatronus blinked. “But… Why would anyone _build_ a transport, if there is enough bots who _are_ transports?”

“Because there are no bots this huge?” Orion shrugged. “Or because they needed it to work in dangerous places like the Sea of Rust and wanted to protect the workers.”

This left Megatronus speechless. The idea was… It was strange but right, all too right! Protect the workers; this was something nobody in Tarn or the Citadel cared about, and yet it could save so many lives! Build a machine to work instead of real living bots, to drill in unstable tunnels, to serve as a moving fortress for the raiders…

“That’s perfect,” he said out loud, an idea coalescing in his mind. Orion glanced at him in question, and Megatronus continued: “We will get through the Sea of Rust in this.”

Orion choked.

“But…” He coughed. “I thought we needed to conserve fuel? This thing must guzzle it like crazy!”

Megatronus looked around. “There should be fuel for it somewhere; and even if there isn’t, it’s still worth a try. We’ll drive it as far as we can, then leave it if necessary. But I bet its tracks would be more resilient against acid than your tires.”

Orion’s wheels spun a little at the thought of driving on acid, and he didn’t argue anymore.

They spent the rest of the day searching the hangar. To Megatronus’s dismay, they didn’t find much fuel, but at least the crawler’s tank turned out to be full, and they discovered some spare canisters. But they also stumbled upon the emergency generator that was powering the lights, so at least that was a win. And – another win! – Orion found a driver’s manual.

As the night fell on the desert above, Orion and Megatronus settled down inside the crawler’s cabin, the old, worn-out seat offering just enough space for them to sit side-by-side, and crouched over the manual.

“So this regulates the speed, and this thing is for steering.” Orion scratched his nasal ridge. “Seems simple enough.”

“Still weird. Like operating another bot.” Megatronus side-eyed the steering wheel with caution. “Are you sure it’s not alive? I wouldn’t want it to wake up with us inside and throw a tantrum.”

“I’m sure. It doesn’t have a spark chamber, I checked.” Orion closed the manual. “And according to the schematics, the console in the corner of the hangar controls an elevator that is located right beyond the gate. I hope the generator has enough power to lift it to the surface, or the crawler will be stuck here.”

“Yeah,” Megatronus murmured, watching one of the lamps over the gate flicker. “Stuck here.”

For a moment it all seemed unreal – this quiet and stillness, this soothing blinking light, this comfortable closeness and the gentle humming of another engine next to him – it all was like a scene from one of those ancient stories, so strange and ethereal. Was this… peace?

And suddenly it washed over Megatronus, overwhelming him like a desert storm – an idea, a desperate desire to keep this, to make this last. What if they stayed here, in the bunker? It was already pillaged, there was a small chance the raiders would return to a place they believed to be empty, and if some scavengers found it – the hangar was easy to defend. Megatronus spent half of his life underground, he knew how to use the tunnels to his advantage, and he and Orion – they could stay, live here together, maybe found their own Citadel, one where nobody would be used and abused, where everyone would be able to learn whatever they wished…

Megatronus sensed Orion shift, his plating rubbing against Megatronus’s own, and cleared his unexpectedly dry throat.

“Um… Orion?” Blue light fell on his face as Orion glanced up at him, and Megatronus suppressed a shiver. His voice was rougher than usual when he uttered: “Do you want to stay?”

In the half-darkness of the cabin he could still see Orion’s mouth open.

“Stay?”

“Yes. You know, forever?” Megatronus started talking faster, as if trying to explain himself under the scrutiny of those blue optics. “We could live here, this place has energy and is well-fortified.” _Not fortified enough,_ a treacherous voice in his head noted, _it was overrun, after all._ “No Prime to command us here, and we could give shelter to other strays… Start a tribe, maybe.” This thought sent an unexpected shiver through him – he and Orion kindling some newsparks, would Orion agree to carry them? “We could teach people to read and write, to use machines to protect them as they work, show them that it’s possible. Show them that Zeta’s way is not the only way.” And maybe, he thought to himself, maybe one day, when they have an army big enough – an army equipped with ancient weapons and transporters, where every soldier knows how to use them – then they will conquer Zeta’s Citadel and free its people, then march to Tarn, then…

“We can’t.”

Megatronus gaped at Orion, and the scribe met his stare with sad, sad optics.

“We can’t,” Orion repeated, lowering his gaze. “I know what you mean, Megatronus, and I wish we could do this… But we have a larger burden, a task more important than even that.” He opened his subspace and took out the Key – the accursed Key, Megatronus knew it wasn’t rejecting him for nothing! “We have been given a chance to revive our entire planet. And before this task all others have to wait… no matter how tempting they are,” he finished quietly.

“Does it mean that you want it too?” Megatronus frowned, anger in him battling with a rush of warmth coiling in his belly. “That you would start a tribe with me?”

And Orion found the one right way to disarm him completely: he locked optics with Megatronus and whispered:

“Yes.”

***

The elevator worked. Although the waterfall of sand poured onto the crawler as the ceiling opened above it, the old systems didn’t glitch: with a horrible screech of ungreased mechanisms the platform reached the surface, and the crawler covered its first hundred of meters in centuries.

Megatronus carried the fuel tank back to it, placing it into the crawler’s cargo zone along with some other loot they salvaged. Then they both climbed into the cabin and cast the last look at the abandoned bunker. A short klik of silence – and Orion forced himself to turn away from the hole in the ground.

“Well, then… Here we go?” The smile on his face came out a bit unnatural, and Orion started rummaging through his subspace in a failed attempt to hide it. “Wait, I’ll check the directions…”

The Key pulsed, showing the same route, but before Orion could put it away, Megatronus’s large hand lay on his wrist.

“Wait.” Megatronus dug into his own subspace. “Here… I found it in the hangar.” A silvery chain glinted on his palm, its ends unconnected. “It’s thin but durable, very hard to tear. Let’s put the Key onto it, so that you don’t lose it. Do you want to wear it around your neck? Or weld it to your plating?”

“I… Thank you!” This time Orion’s smile was genuine, and Megatronus’s spark fluttered. “I think I can wear it as a necklace. This way we’ll always see where we should go.”

Megatronus just nodded and opened his tool kit. Just a couple of touches with a blowtorch, and the Key found a new resting place on Orion’s chest, the chain’s ends welded together securely.

Finally Orion put his hands on the control panel. The crawler’s massive form rumbled like a giant beast, the powerful engine inside it coming to life.

“The helm is yours.” Megatronus opened the cabin’s door. “I’m going to keep watch.”

“Megatronus?” A small hand was placed on his back, nimble fingers touching the sensitive protoform in the gaps of the armor. “Thank you. For understanding. And… we can come back here. After we revive Cybertron… After we do our task, we can come back and do as you suggested. Found our own tribe. Offer refuge to all who need it. What do you say?”

Megatronus paused, ex-venting hard through clenched dental plates. The offer was good, it seemed well-meaning, and yet he couldn’t help the bilious taste in his mouth, the sense of helpless rage that had nowhere to go. It was like Orion was trying to pacify him… to throw him a bone for behaving. And Megatronus hated it.

“I say, we shall see,” he managed to grind out and left the cabin without looking back.

***

Very soon Orion could see for himself that Megatronus’s description of the Sea of Rust was no exaggeration. The first sign was the change in the ground’s color and texture: sand turned into a dry reddish crust. It crunched under the crawler’s tracks, leaving a trace of dust behind, but the further they drove, the moister it became, shallow pools of acid appearing here and there. Orion’s plating clamped down on instinct at the thought of his bare tires rolling over this terrain. Despite the crawler’s size and weight, its wide tracks allowed it to pass effortlessly where a four-wheeler would get stuck.

But soon he wasn’t able to see the tracks anymore, because thick fog started rising from the surface. Now the crawler’s cabin and the back of the fuel tank on the cargo platform looked like a moving island in the sea of mist. The cabin protected Orion from the vapors, but Megatronus resided on top of the cabin. Rusty taint was forming on his grey plating, especially on those panels where he couldn’t wipe off the moisture. Luckily, so far it didn’t look deadly.

Orion got a new appreciation for the crawler when on the second day dark thunderclouds began gathering on the horizon.

“It doesn’t look like a dust storm,” Orion said, popping his head out of the cabin’s window.

Megatronus twitched his shoulder guards.

“Because it isn’t. It’s acid rain.”

“Maybe you should get inside the cabin.” Orion glanced at the approaching clouds with growing worry. “I doubt anyone would come out to hunt us down in this weather.”

“Yeah,” Megatronus muttered, and then finally moved from his seat. “I doubt it as well.”

***

For a hundredth time Orion thanked any deity that could hear him for the crawler and the skill of people who made it. Outside of the cabin the thunderstorm raged, acidic streams banging on the roof and the thick glass, but not a single drop reached the inside.

“How did you manage to cross the Sea of Rust on your own?” Orion asked his companion as he drove through the wind and weather.

“I travelled during the dry season, so my enemy was dust, not rain.” Megatronus had his arms crossed and did his best to look tough, but it was clear that the storm affected him. “I don’t think I’d have survived it.”

“This crawler is truly a marvel.” Orion stroked the rubber of the steering wheel. “Maybe it was built exactly for the Sea of Rust.”

“Did the Sea of Rust even exist before the Great War?”

“Not everything dangerous was the result of the War.” Orion dimmed his optics. “Cybertron has never been an unblemished paradise.”

“But at least it had enough energon to feed everyone.”

“Theoretically.” Orion shifted, not sure how to explain it. “There were wars before the Great War, and there were bots who died of hunger or sickness.”

“And there were Primes.”

The last word fell down like a piece of lead, harsh and hateful.

“You mean bots who ruled like tyrants.”

“I mean…”

And then the window on Orion’s side was smashed into pieces.

The heat of an energy blast burned the air before Orion’s face, blinding his optics. The crawler groaned and skidded as Orion lost control over it. He rather heard than saw Megatronus open the door and leap into the storm, and the cold wind threw acidic drops onto Orion’s plating.

He managed to grab the steering wheel again and steady the crawler, his optics finally adjusting, and beyond the curtain of rain, among the flashes of laser fire, he spotted two dark shapes, one airborne and one driving on the ground. Fountains of poisoned water were flying from under the stranger’s tracks, twin cannons firing at Megatronus – tracks! Their pursuer had tracks, not wheels!

And in the midst of the thunderstorm the tank tracks gave their pursuer an advantage over Megatronus, who had trouble staying in the air. But Megatronus wasn’t going to give up, firing his cannon in return – and as the purple blast lighted up the scene, Orion finally recognized the shape of the attacker.

“Tarn!”

The exclamation fell from his lips before Orion could stop it, and the tank’s twin muzzles turned automatically, aiming at him, before going back to following Megatronus’s movements. Still, it was more than enough: spark pounding in his chest and fingers clenched around the steering wheel, Orion pressed the acceleration, sending the crawler forward at full throttle.

Zeta’s Imperator came for them. Zeta’s Imperator hunted them down! It was all because of their stupid delay in the ravaged city, because of the damn fog, because they became careless…

Orion’s wiring started itching where the raindrops fell between the seams of his armor.

“Megatronus!” He looked out of the cabin, searching for his friend’s shape among the flouncing shadows. “Get in the crawler!”

“Drive!” Megatronus’s voice barked from somewhere above. Tarn’s cannons turned once more, fired –and Orion’s spark stopped in his chest when he heard a cry of pain and a dark shape falling.

“Megatronus!” Orion opened the cabin’s door, leaning out as much as he could without letting go of the steering wheel, energon in his veins going cold. He couldn’t see the jet’s form in the sky anymore, and he was driving forth, getting farther and farther…

And then the crawler shook as a mech jumped onto its side from the darkness, grabbing the door Orion was holding.

He yelped, recoiling, - or rather attempting to recoil, for a huge wet hand seized his wrist in an iron grip, and suddenly Orion saw Tarn’s masked face – so close, too close! Red optics were gleaming in the slits of the mask, and now Orion understood why Tarn appeared almost black: his plating was covered in mud, corroded, littered with burrows and stains.

“You!” Tarn pulled his arm, reaching for him, trying to climb into the cabin. “Traitor! Prime’s property!”

All thoughts and feelings left Orion except for the cold, blistering rage that teetered on the verge of panic.

“Let go!” He pressed his foot against Tarn’s chest. “I am no one’s property!”

But Tarn didn’t seem to even hear him, optics feverish, voice breaking down.

“I’m taking you back… Gonna get you!” He pulled himself high enough to free his other hand; it darted forward, aiming for Orion’s throat, or maybe shoulder –

“No!” Orion kicked him, slithering back on the wet seat, and Tarn’s fingers clenched around the chain with the Key to Vector Sigma that was still dangling around Orion’s neck.

“No!” Orion yelled even louder, fear for the Key overcoming everything else for a moment. He caught the Key in his palm, chain straining as it was tugged in two opposite directions…

And then the Key flared bright, bright blue, its radiance illuminating the cabin like a lightning bolt – and just like a lightning bolt, it stroke Tarn right in his face.

The huge tankformer arched and gurgled, fingers convulsing and then loosening their grip as electric sparks danced over his mask and throat. Orion scooted back to the passenger’s seat, holding the Key against his chest, desperately looking for a weapon –

And then some unseen force plucked Tarn out of the cabin and threw him away like a helpless puppet. There was a wet smack of a heavy body falling into the mud, followed by a blast.

Orion opened his mouth – only to gasp with joy as Megatronus took Tarn’s place, crawling into the driver’s seat, the cannon on his arm still alight with charge. He was dripping wet, his grey plating battered and starting to erode, his side was burned black and smoking – but he was alive.

“You’re okay!” Orion even forgot about the Key, hurrying to hug Megatronus. “You’re okay!”

“Not now, Orion.” Megatronus placed his hands on the steering wheel, wincing as his wounded side was disturbed.

“And Tarn?”

“Scrapped.” Megatronus concentrated on driving, but still ground out a crooked smile, mirth seeping into his voice. “Whatever you hit him with, you hit him good. I just added a farewell present.”

“I didn’t…” Orion started, but decided to drop it. It wasn’t really the time to bring up the strange flare from the Key.

All that mattered now was to get as far as possible from Tarn’s supposed remains.

That – and the fact that they were still alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the megop action will start soon. ;) Well, as soon as I'll be able to write the next chapter.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter grew so much I had to separate it in two (as always). So the megop action I spoke of is moved to the next one. Sorry for the miscommunication!  
> But we meet some new people here, and I hope you'll be glad to see them. ;)

At last the Sea of Rust was left behind. The poisonous vapors dissipated, the acid puddles were gone from the ground, and the sky was clear again.

But the reminder of the dreadful marshes was still with them: Orion took the wheel from his companion soon after the battle with Tarn, and he had been driving the crawler ever since. Megatronus occupied the seat next to him, slumped against the cabin’s wall; his hand was pressed to the gaping wound on his side.

Orion cleaned it as soon as they moved far enough from the place of attack, but Megatronus’s self-repair never kicked in – apparently, due to the acid drops getting into the wound. If anything, it was looking worse with every day. It didn’t bleed – the blast from the fusion cannon burned most of the severed fuel lines – but it oozed disgusting greenish slime. The tender inner circuitry and the edges of the broken metal plates were corroding, and no matter how many times Orion washed the injury, it had no other effect but the fact that they were running out of solvent.

Orion cast a short glance at the warrior, insides clenching with helpless worry. Megatronus was half-delirious now, his optics pale, vents heavy and raspy. He stopped trying to keep the tough façade a while ago and just sat there, saving what little strength he had left.

The Key to Vector Sigma pulsed steadily, hanging on the chain around Orion’s neck, and for the first time he felt the urge to smash it into pieces. What use did its power have if it couldn’t even help Orion’ friend? He tried waving it in front of Megatronus’s injury, tried praying and begging it, but the Key didn’t respond; it stroke Tarn down, but couldn’t heal Megatronus.

Maybe if they got to Vector Sigma in time… Maybe Vector Sigma could..?

Maybe it would’ve been better if they never left Citadel at all. They has relatively secured positions, they had a medic around… It wasn’t a happy place, but at least they both were alive.

No matter how important their mission was, Orion came to a realization that he wasn’t ready to sacrifice his friend for it.

***

Since Orion was the only one driving now, they had to make breaks. The desert was the same all around, so Orion simply stopped when the sun went down. He climbed into the cargo holder to get some fuel and solvent; the canister with the latter was almost empty, and Orion carefully poured half of the remaining solvent into a can.

“Here.” He gave Megatronus his portion of energon and busied himself with cleaning the wound. It was covered with that green stuff again, and the blackened components continued to decompose, even though Orion saw no traces of acid. Once again he felt that impulse to smash something or throw the empty solvent can on the floor; he was helpless, utterly helpless! Oh, what wouldn’t he give for a medic! Why didn’t he watch Pharma closely when he had the chance? Sure, Orion learned the basics of first aid from him, but he read medical books for Pharma, he could’ve learned more, if only he knew…

“Orion.”

He jolted; Megatronus hadn't been speaking for two days. And how terrible, how unrecognizable his voice was now! Orion looked up to meet his gaze. Even in the semi-darkness of dusk Megatronus’s optics glowed brown instead of normal red.

“Watch… closely.” Megatronus took his hand and placed it on the base of his arm cannon. “Here… Are the latches. It’s deep…” He coughed. “Deep-wired… but if you know the sequence… Press here, then here, two times… here.” There was a click, and the cannon came off his arm. Megatronus put it back, locking the latches again, his every movement slow and obviously requiring a lot of effort. “Did you… memorize?”

Orion’s spark was swirling in premonition.

“But why…”

“If I… don’t recover… you can’t be weapon… less.”

“No!” _You will recover,_ Orion wanted to scream _. You won’t die, you can’t die!_ But the words got stuck in his vocalizer, and the broken, desperate “no” was the only thing he managed to utter.

Megatronus just grasped his wrist, the grip of the once mighty claws frightfully weak.

“Did you… memorize?”

“Yes,” Orion ground out. Megatronus nodded and closed his optics, his fingers loosening.

Orion curled on the seat next to him this night. He clung to the larger frame, taking in its feverish warmth and listening to wheezing vents.

This was not how it was supposed to be. Of course, their journey was risky, but in Orion’s head it was always him who died and failed the quest to Vector Sigma. He would vanish in a blast, and everything would end. He had never considered that it could be Megatronus – powerful, seasoned Imperator Megatronus – who could fall first, leaving Orion to continue their mission alone.

He would be left alone again.

The thought flashed through his mind, and on its heels came shame; how could Orion feel sorry for himself and fear his loneliness when it was Megatronus who suffered? When Megatronus was dying? Orion was disgusting. He needed to step up and be worthy of his friend.

Orion hid his face in Megatronus’s shoulder and forced back his sobs.

***

The next day wasn’t any different from the previous; the desert was just as vast and empty… until at noon Orion spotted something glinting on the horizon. He would’ve taken it for a piece of rock or for a mirage, if a couple of kliks later a small dot didn’t separate from the object and start moving in the crawler’s direction.

Orion tensed, and Megatronus at his side opened his optics, sensing the flare of Orion’s EM field.

“What… is it?”

“Something’s moving towards us.” Orion pointed at the glinting dot that was growing larger and larger.

Megatronus’s cannon hummed to life.

“Get out of h... here. I… can’t f-fight.”

Orion’s first instinct was to follow Megatronus’s advice, but something about the approaching bot – and now he could see that it was a bot, a motorcycle – was unfitting for a raiding party.

“I don’t know, Megatronus.” Orion squinted. “There is some formation on the horizon, but this bot is small and approaching a large vehicle alone; it can’t be an attack.”

“You… never know.” Megatronus shifted on his seat, groaning as his wound was disturbed, but Orion was too concentrated on their visitor to notice.

“It’s a two-wheeler.” He frowned. “I thought they only lived in the mountains.” Small and agile, two-wheelers couldn’t rival heavy charge vehicles in the open desert, but were literally invincible on the unsteady rocky slopes.

“It’s still… coming. They’re not… afraid.”

“Or they are desperate,” Orion supposed, and in the end he wasn’t mistaken.

The two-wheeler transformed as she – for it was a lithe blue-painted femme – blocked the crawler’s path.

“Please! I need help!” She raised her arms, aiming twin blasters at the windshield, and Orion raised an eyebrow at such an odd way of asking for assistance. “Stop, or I shoot!”

“No need to shoot.” Orion hit the brakes, hiding a smile. This femme, her determined face, the sheer contrast between her tiny frame and the enormous crawler she threatened – all of this made the situation ridiculous. And somehow not scary at all. “You said you need help?”

The femme appeared bewildered by his civil manner, but she took a hold of herself pretty quickly, concealing her confusion and replacing it with an even fiercer mien. Orion noticed that she looked very young, and her plating, albeit scuffed and dusty, still was pristine compared to anyone Orion knew (well, maybe except for Pharma).

“Yes.” The femme’s blue optics darted to Megatronus’s cannon and focused on Orion again. “My friend is stuck. We need your machine to get him out.”

“Stuck?” That was cryptic; where would a person be stuck in a desert? “All right, sure. Lead the way.”

Now the femme completely failed to suppress her shock, and then a heavy palm lay on Orion’s arm.

“No,” Megatronus wheezed and coughed, but forced himself to continue: “ _No_. We move on.”

“But…”

“It can be… a trap. The femme… is bait.” For a moment Megatronus’s dim optics burned with the old flame. “Don’t… trust. Move.”

“I am not a bait!” The femme’s plating fluffed in anger. “My friend can _die_ , you sparkless glitch!”

Megatronus growled, but Orion covered his palm with his own hand – gently.

“There is a risk it’s a trap,” he said firmly, “but there is a possibility somebody is truly in trouble. How desperate must you be, if you ask strangers for help?” He nodded to the femme. “Lead the way.”

“Orion…” It might’ve sounded commanding if Megatronus was healthy… but he wasn’t.

“Compassion is what separates us from Zeta.” Orion shook his head and, moving his attention to the femme, repeated for the third time: “Lead the way.”

***

Fortune was smiling at Orion and Megatronus today: it was not a trap. At least, it was no trap fashioned by other bots’ hands.

A large mech with green plating was buried waist-deep in quicksand. He jerked to look at the newcomers and immediately started sinking deeper; a yellow-colored youngster, who was standing at the edge of the quicksand, let out a semi-panicking, semi-commanding tirade in binary, and the green mech stopped moving, holding perfectly still.

“You tell ‘im, Bee,” came a gruff response from the third member of this group: a red-and-white truck. “Arcee, finally!” This person had a tow cable hooked around the green bot’s torso; sand was flying from under the truck’s wheels and his engine was roaring, but despite his best efforts the green mech hadn’t moved an inch.

Orion tilted his head at the sight of the red-and-white bot. Where did he see such vehicles..?

“Well?” said bot snapped; apparently, he had no fear of strangers. “Are you going to help or what?”

“Orion…” Megatronus made another attempt. “Leave them… We can’t… spare fuel…”

But at this moment something clicked in Orion’s head.

“An ambulance!” He jumped to his feet, nearly hitting his head against the cabin’s ceiling. “You’re a medic!”

“Yes, and?” The medic’s voice became even more annoyed.

The decision was made. Orion intended to help either way, but he wasn’t going to pass the opportunity to gain something.

“I will help get your friend out,” he said, “if you help my friend in return.”

The ambulance’s lamps blinked; Orion felt the slight tingle of a scanning ray.

“Deal,” the medic barked. “Now help!”

Under the watchful optics of the blue femme (whose name was, apparently, Arcee) and her yellow companion (Bee? What kind of a name was that?), who had their guns trained on him, Orion got out the crawler’s tow cable and threw it to the green mech.

“Grab it!” he shouted, and then put the crawler in reverse. The enormous engine revved, and in mere seconds it was done: the unlucky bot was free.

As soon as Orion was sure the rescued mech was on solid ground, he stopped, although he didn’t switch off the engine and didn’t leave the cabin; what if these people decided that superior numbers gave them a chance to attack and take the crawler for themselves?

“I did my part,” he yelled, watching the green mech disentangle himself from the loops of the tow cable. “Now it’s your turn, medic.”

“My name is Ratchet.” Said medic finally transformed into his root mode. He was just as stocky as his vehicle form, and his face was just as grumpy as his voice. “Bulkhead, are you alright?” he addressed his companion.

“Y… Yeah. I’m fine, Ratch. Just got sand in… places.” The green mech raised his gaze at Orion, and the scribe thought that it surprisingly lacked malice. “You go do your thing.”

Orion opened the door on Megatronus’s side and scooted back, keeping a hand on the steering wheel – just in case. When Ratchet climbed up to the cabin, he was greeted with the slowly lightening barrel of Megatronus’s fusion cannon.

“No… funny business,” Megatronus managed to grind out, although his breaking voice and flickering optics kind of took away the imposing edge.

Ratchet’s mouth tightened into a thin line, but he said nothing – just concentrated on the wound.

“Damage by acid and infection spread all over the internal systems…” He quickly checked Megatronus over. “You traveled through the Sea of Rust?”

Orion narrowed his optics. There was some strange tint in Ratchet’s tone…

“Yes,” he replied carefully. “We got in an acid rain.”

“I see.” No, there was definitely something off about this medic. The way he threw quick side-glances at the cabin, his posture… But he seemed to know his job. The moment he took out his tool kit and began cleaning off the greenish slime, he changed: his movements became free and precise, his optics stopped darting to the side.

“The infection has gone pretty deep, so I’ll have to cut off contaminated parts.” Ratchet picked up a little rotor saw. “I’m going to put you into stasis…”

“No!” Megatronus’s reaction was so violent that his voice got some of its power back for a moment. “No, no stasis,” he continued quieter, but just as firm. “I’m not letting you… out of… my sight.”

Ratchet grunted in annoyance.

“It will be _very_ painful!”

“No stasis,” Megatronus repeated, cannon humming. The arm underneath it was trembling.

“As you wish,” Ratchet spat – but got to work.

Orion had to fight both his desire to look away and his rebelling stomach. Even the sounds alone made him nauseous: the hissing of the saw and the shrill scraping of the abrasive brush that Ratchet used to get rid of the contaminated metal layers, the squelches when the laser scalpel cut infected fuel lines. The only urge that Orion didn’t fight was finding Megatronus’s hand. Claws dug into his palm as Megatronus squeezed the offered appendage like a lifeline, but Orion didn’t protest. No sound escaped the warrior’s scarred lips, and Orion was going to honor this silence.

He didn’t know how much time had passed until Ratchet finally straightened his back and put his tools away. An ugly patch of simple grey metal now covered Megatronus’s injured side (Orion had to cut the empty solvent canister in order to make it).

“Done.” Ratchet was studying his work with a critical optic, but he sounded proud. “Now that the corroded parts are gone, his self-repair will get to work. No transforming until the inner circuitry reintegrates; the patch should be changed for real armor as soon as you find suitable materials.”

“Thank you,” Orion breathed out – completely honest. “Thank you so much!”

“Don’t mention it,” Ratchet murmured – and then there was that weird look again. The medic seemed to be waging some internal battle, until finally he opted to say: “Listen, um…”

“Orion.”

“Orion. Can I talk to you? In private?”

Orion felt Megatronus tense, but didn’t openly react.

“What about?”

“About my… patient’s state.”

“If I’m dying… you can say that to my f-face,” Megatronus wheezed.

Ratchet frowned, fidgeted, and it was clear that there was something else. For a person who travelled across the desert he was a terrible liar. How did he even survive up until now?

In fact, what kind of a weird company was this – a naïve medic and three young bots, all suspiciously clean and not that well-armed?

“It’s about another patient.” This was so pathetic that Orion got curious.

Curious – but not suicidal.

“Very well,” he said. “Let’s talk in the cargo holder.” He patted Megatronus’s shoulder. “Will you be fine here with the steering wheel?”

“Sure,” the warrior grunted, forcing himself into sitting position. He understood Orion’s idea: this way they stayed out of the three youngsters’ line of fire, and in case they attacked, Ratchet became a hostage.

So Orion and Ratchet climbed out of the cabin and disappeared in the crawler’s spacious cargo zone.

***

“So?” Orion stopped next to the fuel tank, making sure that he stayed between Ratchet and the way to the cabin. “What did you want to talk about?”

“You are not a warrior,” Ratchet said without further ado. “I scanned you; you have no weapons. You are a civilian.”

“True.” There was no reason to pretend, although Orion wasn’t keen on revealing his function.

“Are you here on your own volition? Or were you stolen, taken by force?”

“On my own volition.” Okay, the conversation went in an unexpected direction.

“Listen,” Ratchet grabbed his hand, his voice becoming agitated. “You are travelling with a raider. I don’t know how you met and what he told you, but this mech out there… He has scars, lots of them, and his armor is modified after the manner of raiders. He is a killer, a professional one, and he most likely killed some friends of mine – trust me, there is evidence. I don’t know where he is taking you, but you must escape while you can. He is incapacitated…”

Orion wanted to laugh, but the last phrase made him freeze.

“Did you do something to him?” Cold, sticky terror was wrapping itself around his fuel tank. “Did you… incapacitate him..?”

“No!” Now it was Ratchet’s turn to be appalled. “I am a medic! I will never do such a thing! But he is weak, he won’t be able to stop you… Listen, we – Arcee, Bulkhead, Bumblebee and I – we are going to the Sanctuary. It’s a safe place, a secret place. You can come with us, but that raider – he must be gone. We can…”

This was when Orion raised a hand, stopping him.

“All right, enough. First of all, I know who my friend is. He is a raider indeed, or rather he used to be. He was the First Imperator of Zeta – a ruler of a Citadel far to the north – the ruler whom I served as well. We escaped him and are travelling – “ Okay, no word of Vector Sigma. Good thing that Orion hid the Key in his subspace before Arcee even approached their crawler. “ – to the southern lands. Your accusations are unwarranted, albeit understandable.”

“He murdered my kin!” Ratchet pointed in the cabin’s direction, as if he wanted to pierce Megatronus with his finger. “This crawler – it belongs to my people! I know it, I saw it many times! It belongs to the people of the Sanctuary, and if some filthy raider is driving it – it means he took it from the rightful owners!”

Ratchet took a deep vent and was probably going to continue, when he noticed the change in his opponent’s face.

“Orion..?”

“I’m sorry, Ratchet.” Orion’s optics shimmered with pity. “I’m so sorry that I have to tell you this, but… I think your Sanctuary is no more.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! This time I was quick.

As the night descended upon the desert, the two groups settled around a small campfire made out of a bowl with slow-burning waste fluids. The crawler’s dark shape towered behind Orion and Megatronus.

After the initial misunderstanding was explained and Ratchet asked questions that confirmed Orion really was inside the Sanctuary, it became clear that nobody here meant harm. They decided to spend the night together. It was not a happy gathering, though; especially when one looked at Ratchet. The medic was sitting with his back crouched, unseeing optics fixed on the fire, and he didn’t even notice Arcee stroking his arm.

“How could it happen?” he murmured at last, voice barely louder than a whisper. “The Sanctuary was… It was hidden. It was supposed to stay safe! How is it possible?”

“You can cross the Sea of Rust and see for yourself, if you don’t believe us,” Megatronus rasped. His fever was subsiding and Ratchet disabled his pain receptors, which left him begrudgingly thankful, but Ratchet’s plain refusal to accept the facts was irritating.

“What exactly was the Sanctuary?” Orion asked, trying to steer the conversation into a less provocative direction.

Ratchet sighed, closed his optics for a second – and when he opened them, he appeared more in control of himself.

“It was, well, a sanctuary. During the last years of the Great War some people – Senator Dai Atlas, for instance – realized that our world was coming to an end. He wanted to save what little could be saved – our achievements, our culture, but most of all – our people; those who didn’t want to fight. He chose a place where no battles were waged – an old depleted mine near the Sea of Rust. He gathered his followers in secret, all the best people: medics, scientists, engineers… And we hid in that mine. We turned it into a bunker, brought enough recourses with us to last thousands of years, and we built a city there. Dai Atlas spent all his wealth on the Sanctuary. We hoped that after the War ended… After Cybertron restored itself… We could return to the surface.”

“But Cybertron didn’t restore itself,” Orion said quietly. Ratchet shook his head.

“We didn’t know that. Still, our storages were limited; what we knew for sure was that one day they will come to end. And I…” He sighed. “I grew restless, I guess. Dai Atlas forbade us to leave the Sanctuary, he was convinced that we were safer underground… But there could be survivors on the surface – and I was right.” He smiled at his companions, who returned his smile. “I wanted to check if it was time for us to break our isolation; we could bring civilization back to Cybertron, bring help to those who needed it. Dai Atlas didn’t agree, so I left on my own.” His optics dimmed, and he let out a joyless chuckle. “Maybe Dai Atlas was right, because the first thing that happened to me on the surface was capture. I was taken by a band of wild thugs; they had that… business going on.” He cringed. “They bred… healthy sparklings, whom they sold afterwards. They needed me to ensure the breeders’... health. And to scan the newsparks, so that they could keep the “good” ones and get rid of the rest.”

Orion shivered, moving closer to Megatronus. Meanwhile, Ratchet continued his story:

“One day a pack of sparkeaters moved into the area where my captors lived. The rest… you can imagine. Sparkeaters hunt the brightest and strongest sparks.” Ratchet’s face contorted in a grimace. “So in the chaos I grabbed the three sparklings that the band was raising at that time and drove off. Apparently, my own spark wasn’t that bright, after all.” He let out a crooked smirk. “The rest is simple. We lived in a cave in Sonic Canyons… I learned to hunt turbofoxes for energon. The sparklings grew,” this time his smile was genuine as he looked over his wards, “and I told them stories of the Sanctuary. The plan was to wait until they are strong enough, and then make a journey through the desert, back to my home. I wanted to show them my home, to show them what life was supposed to be, to find teachers for them, to repair Bee’s voicebox…” Ratchet’s voice broke down again.. “Dai Atlas wouldn’t send us away… If he was alive.”

“Are you sure nobody survived?” Bulkhead addressed Orion, his face full of trust, and the scribe felt his cheeks flush. He didn’t want to break this young mech’s hope… But it was better than to send them through the Sea of Rust in false hope.

“There were only bare carcasses in the Sanctuary,” he answered. “If somebody did survive, they were taken by the attackers.”

“But we did find a brand of the warlord who raided your home,” Megatronus’s deep voice intervened. Ratchet’s optics flared, and his companions leaned forward. “Here.” Megatronus dug his claw into the sand and drew the symbol they saw on the wall back in the ravaged bunker: a winged crown.

Ratchet’s frown deepened.

“I think I saw it a couple of times, but I don’t know whom this one belongs.” His engine revved. “If I ever find them…”

“You’d better drive as fast as you can – in the opposite direction,” Megatronus snapped. “Unless you want to become a warlord’s personal possession and see your sparklings turned into slaves.”

Ratchet opened his mouth to retort, but chose against it. In fact, he appeared crushed; Orion wanted to hug him, but supposed that the gruff medic wouldn’t appreciate it.

“So,” Arcee coughed, her voice cutting through the uncomfortable silence. “What is your story?”

Orion exchanged short glances with Megatronus, and the warrior nodded at him. Orion returned that nod and began:

“Well, our story is simple. Megatronus and I…” He was interrupted by Ratchet’s sarcastic harrumph.

“I’m sorry, what? Your name is _Megatronus_? After the slaggin’ _Fallen_?”

Megatronus drew his brows together, but there was more confusion than anger in his voice when he replied.

“I don’t know who this ‘Fallen’ is. I took my name from the counting song.” When Ratchet sent him a questioning glance (and Orion joined, for he had never heard the story of his friend’s name), Megatronus elaborated: “We used to sing it in the mines to count the hits of the pickaxe. You know, a counting song:

_First is Prima, the Swordsman of Light,_  
_Second is Vector, the master of time,_  
 _Third is the wisest, who records and observes,_  
 _Fourth is the creator, the wielder of the Forge,_

\- and so on. And this was my favorite verse: _‘Twelfth is Megatronus, who stood against them all.’”_ Megatronus raised his chin proudly. “I always thought he had to be very brave to do that.”

Nobody said anything for a while; Orion, for instance, was making a mental note to ask Megatronus to sing some more songs to him, because his deep baritone made him feel… things. Ratchet, apparently, had another reason for his silence, for when he finally broke it, his tone was grave.

“This ‘counting song’ of yours is the list of the Thirteen original Primes, who were created by Primus himself. Megatronus betrayed them and became known as the Fallen. You are bearing the name of the worst monster in Cybertronian history.”

“What, even worse than those who raided your Sanctuary and bred sparklings to sell them?” Megatronus’s gaze became sharp.

Ratchet gritted his dental plates, but didn’t answer.

“The Thirteen are ancient history, if they ever existed,” Orion said in an attempt to restore peace. Briefly he wondered why Alpha Trion never gave him anything to read about the Primes except for some vague legends. He, too, didn’t know that Megatronus was the name of the Fallen. “Cybertron has other Primes now – like the one we escaped from. He called himself Zeta Prime, even though he was just a cruel, power-hungry mech.”

And Orion told their new acquaintances the short version of their story, carefully avoiding any mentions of the Key to Vector Sigma. There were risks he wasn’t ready to take.

***

Orion and Megatronus returned to the crawler’s cabin for the night’s rest. From their high seats they could see the dark forms of their new acquaintances curled up next to the faded campfire. Only Bumblebee was still sitting upright, keeping watch, his large round optics glimmering like two blue dots.

“They seem like nice people,” Orion murmured, snuggling closer to Megatronus. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” Megatronus made a pause, fighting some inner battle, and then continued half-heartedly: “This Ratchet is a good medic. Even better than Pharma, I’d say.”

“Do you want to take them with us?”

Once again Megatronus hesitated before answering.

“I… don’t know. No. Ratchet could be useful, but he’s too unfit for the desert, too trusting. And the kids, they are barely warriors; they didn’t have anyone to teach them. It’s a miracle they are still alive.”

“You could teach them,” Orion offered.

“I could, but we don’t have time. Our fuel storages are limited, Orion. We must think of getting to Vector Sigma first. Unless…” Orion sensed rather than saw Megatronus smile. “Unless you want to start a tribe instead.”

“You mean them?” Orion laughed quietly. “And here I thought you would rather make sparklings yourself.”

“One doesn’t exclude the other,” Megatronus nuzzled his antenna playfully, and a tingly wave of heat rushed down Orion’s spine. “I noticed you didn’t tell them about the Key.”

“Y-yeah,” Orion muttered, trying to put his thoughts into order. Megatronus obviously intended to continue the conversation, but that nuzzle was… distracting. “Yeah,” he repeated, finally managing some semblance of control over himself, “we don’t know them that well. Still, I think we should take them with us… Help them find some more or less safe place before moving forward. Besides, Ratchet would be able to take care of you while you recover.”

“We don’t have enough energon to feed four more bots. And I didn’t spot a fuel tank with them.”

“We can’t just leave them to die.”

“Orion.” Megatronus shifted, turning to face Orion, and placed his hands on the scribe’s shoulders. “We are not responsible for them. We met, we traded favors and stories, and it’s time for us all to go our separate ways. Ratchet didn’t even ask you for anything; why do you assume he would?”

Orion opened his mouth to retort… and promptly closed it.

“You’re right,” he sighed after a while. “They didn’t ask for anything. I guess I got… too excited.” Then he looked up at Megatronus, blue optics twinkling. “But don’t you think it’s nice to have some friendly company?”

“I don’t know,” Megatronus chuckled, his smile a faint outline in the dim red light of his optics (that have already began to regain their proper color). “I’m pretty happy with your company alone.”

Orion coughed.

“I, um. Thank you. I’m… happy in your company too.” And the moment these words escaped his lips, it struck him that yes: despite all the hardships, despite the terrible battle with Tarn and the uncertain future, for the first time since Alpha Trion’s demise Orion was actually… happy?

He sighed, allowing his shoulders to relax under Megatronus’s palms. All of this was affecting his mood: their proximity, the cozy and secluded darkness of the cabin - and the warmth emanating from the large frame next to him. Following a semi-conscious urge, he placed his own hands on Megatronus’s chest – right on the scar where Zeta’s brand used to be. When he raised his gaze again, Megatronus’s face was close – too close.

Orion’s spark was beating so hard it echoed in his audials. All Ratchet’s warnings ran through his head as he peered in Megatronus’s optics, but Orion simply smiled, casting those warning away. He knew who Megatronus was, what he was doing for the living – and he also knew Megatronus as a person.

He was the best thing that happened to Orion in his life.

Megatronus raised an eyebrow as Orion told him that.

“What, even better than the Key to Vector Sigma?”

“Definitely better,” Orion said, nuzzling his cheek, as Megatronus did a while ago with his antenna. One more shift – and their lips were pressed to each other, neither of them experienced in this particular action, but both eager to try. Orion did his best not to get cut by the warrior’s sharp dental plates, but the risk of it exhilarated him even more.

He thought that Megatronus would simply bend him over and frag him, like he saw warriors in the Citadel do. But instead Megatronus was so careful with him! When his arms snaked around Orion’s waist, deadly claws digging into his seams, there was no pain – only the slight tingling. Megatronus let go of his lips and breathed out, vents heavy:

“I want to do it the right way… Like in the stories. Teach me!”

“I’ve never done it myself,” Orion muttered, suddenly ashamed – and embarrassed by this shame. It’s not that he could learn kissing or interfacing anywhere (books didn’t count), but for some reason it seemed like he failed his friend. Megatronus wanted to do it right – and Orion couldn’t even help him!

But Megatronus didn’t appear disappointed; his fangs glinted in the mingled light of their optics as he grinned.

“Then, I believe, we’ll have to teach ourselves,” he murmured, leaning for another kiss. It was sloppy and slow, but they were learning together.

Then Megatronus’s hand ventured lower, cupping the curve of Orion’s aft and probing at his interface panel. Orion stiffened, suddenly painfully aware of what they were going to do. The idea thrilled and scared him at the same time, making his valve clench under its cover.

The idea – and what it implied.

“Megatronus.” Orion grabbed the warrior’s shoulders, capturing his attention. “Megatronus, we can’t ‘face. I could… One of us could kindle! We can’t afford carrying, even a failed one; it’s too dangerous.”

Megatronus nodded.

“True. Then we will not frag.” His hand moved to Orion’s front, rubbing his spike cover. “But it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have some fun. Open up!”

Orion hesitated for a moment… but he trusted Megatronus. His interface panel retracted fully, baring both his spike and valve arrays; and his spike rose immediately, already thick and leaking. Then Orion heard another snick, and his antennas twitched when he figured out what it meant. He forced his palm to slide down Megatron’s torso, embarrassment battling with desire, when his digits bumped into the rough welds of the patch Ratchet made.

“Oh!” Orion froze. “Are you sure it’s a good idea? You’re injured, and you were close to dying just this morning...”

“We’ll be careful,” Megatronus promised, although his lighthearted tone didn’t give much confidence. “The fever has passed, and Ratchet disabled my pain receptors. Hey, you can’t leave me hanging now!” He placed his own hand on Orion’s palm and guided it lower, until it touched the hot shaft of a fully pressurized spike.

Orion’s spark skipped a beat, his entire body burning like it was dipped in lava. With trembling fingers he explored the imposing length, his valve clenching at the mere image of this spike lodged into him. Maybe it was for the better that Megatronus wasn’t in the right condition for proper interfacing…

But the way Megatronus shuddered when Orion stroke his spike for the first time, the barely audible moan that fell from his lips – that filled Orion with a new desire: to make his friend feel good. To bring him pleasure. But then Megatronus’s claws wrapped around Orion’s own spike, caressing it with utmost caution, and all Orion’s fears were gone in an instant: he bucked his hips, optics shut and cooling fans roaring. He forgot how it felt, memories of shy attempts he dared back home fading with time, all fantasies unwelcome with a sealed interface panel. And here he was touched at last, touched by somebody else, by a mech with strong hands and a dashing smile, by a mech who cared for Orion, whom Orion… loved?

With a groan Orion slumped against Megatronus, stroking his spike firmer and faster, each of his movements answered by Megatronus’s own, and soon they both were panting, chasing their overloads as the howl of their cooling fans muffled all sounds that escaped them. Orion started rubbing against Megatronus, the head of his spike leaving wet stains on the warrior’s armor, just as Megatronus did the same, and it was hot and suffocating in the best kind of way –

Until Orion overloaded, hiding his face in Megatronus’s chest, his last shreds of self-control aimed at keeping quiet. His body went limp, his grip on Megatronus’s spike loosening, but then the warrior covered his hand with his own again, thrusting into their joined grip some more times – and then his massive frame shuddered in the throes of an overload. Orion shivered too, experiencing another’s pleasure for the first time – a pleasure that he helped to bring – and sensing foreign wetness dribble down his abdomen. It was almost obscenely intimate, and yet Orion was thrilled. Like he was initiated into something.

In the ancient books such an act would be called the loss of innocence, but that expression didn’t make sense anymore; the world robbed Orion of his innocence many years ago. This – this felt like regaining something, not losing.

He sighed, breathing in the scent of Megatronus’s heated armor, solvent and fresh soldering. He didn’t want to move at all, but he had to when Megatronus stirred and reached out for something. Finally forcing himself to sit straight, Orion discovered that the warrior tore a piece of mesh from the seat’s upholstery; then without a word, Megatronus proceeded to wipe the transfluid off both of their armor.

“There,” he said, throwing the sullied rag into the corner. “You okay?”

“Huh? Oh, I’m…” Orion stuttered, not sure how to describe his state. “Okay,” he said after all. “Are you? I mean, is your wound..?” Oh damn, he was making a fool of himself.

“It’s fine.” Megatronus rested his back on the seat; he sounded tired, which wasn’t surprising – he was still recovering from the fever and injury, and additional strenuous activity must have drained him. Noticing that Orion didn’t move to his side as usual, he tilted his head in puzzlement. “Are you coming? We’d better get some rest.”

“Y-yeah…” Orion didn’t know why he hesitated; he recharged next to Megatronus without any problems before. Did this night change something between them? Megatronus didn’t seem to think so...

Making up his mind, Orion settled next to the warrior, leaning on his healthy side. Only then did the stress of this day finally catch up with him, and he fell in recharge before he could shut his optics.

***

At first the scout of the Red Knives band thought that he stumbled upon a dead body; what else could he think about the carcass that resembled a blackened and twisted chunk of metal? The mech’s armor was corroded almost to his protoform; he seemed to have used to wear some kind of mask, but it was melted, half of it gone completely, and that part of the mech’s face was disfigured. The optic that somehow survived the damage was offline.

Only when he brought the body to his band’s shelter did he find out that the unknown mech was alive; his spark was still beating unevenly under the ruined armor.

“Let’s wake him up,” the band’s leader decided. “Looks like he crawled out of the Sea of Rust. Nobody goes there without a good reason; I want to know what’s going on.”

So they tore the remnants of the mask off the mech’s face and poured some energon in his intake. The mech coughed, and in his delirious mutters the bandits managed to catch familiar words:

“Zeta… Prime… Failed… Forgive…”

“Zeta, huh?” The leader scratched his head under the too-big helmet, specks of rust falling on his shoulders. “One of his boys, perhaps? Hey!” He kicked the mech’s thigh. “Hey, dustbin, wake up!”

Another kick, and the mech reacted at last, moaning with pain. It left some weird discomfort in the scout’s spark, but he preferred to keep quiet.

Then the mech’s optics flickered to life, and all bandits gasped.

“Well-well-well,” the leader drawled, a wide grin playing on his cracked lips, “red optics and a mask… Have we finally caught the mighty Tarn? Looking not so mighty today, oh Imperator.”

He kicked Tarn again, this time with real force, and the rest of the bandits laughed, clenching their weapons. The Red Knives lost many warriors to Zeta’s raiders, who always strived to expand their territory, and Tarn was one of their greatest nightmares. And here he was, lying at their feet, weak and diseased!

“Get me… to my Prime… and he… might spare you…” Tarn ground out, but it came out more like a wheeze rather than his normal booming voice.

Then what was that unpleasant feeling in the scout’s gut?

“Oh, I don’t think so,” the leader purred. “Too long were we scavenging at the outskirts of your empire, eating the scraps from your table. Time to pay, Tarn.” He drew out a knife – a jagged blade painted red with deadly cosmic rust which gave the tribe its name – and brought it over Tarn’s abdomen. “I won’t kill you right away, oh no. I will cut you slowly, watch the red rust spread over you, and then, when you are nothing but a falling apart wreck, I will pierce your t-cog, brain and spark.”

The knife started descending… And then Tarn growled:

“Away!”

He must’ve collected all his remaining strength to make his voice sound powerful like before – but the results came unexpected to everyone, him included: for the leader suddenly doubled over, hands pressed to his chest. The knife fell from his hand and hit the ground, missing its victim by inches.

“Boss?” The scout tried to inquire, and he met his leader’s gaze for a moment – shocked, terrified and furious gaze – when Tarn coughed, trying to prop himself on his elbows.

The cough resonated within the scout, and he saw his fellow bandits quiver, their faces bearing the same confusion – but the one most confused was Tarn himself.

“What is… going on?” he asked, and the warriors around him fell on their knees, all clutching at their sparks. It became dawning upon Tarn; there was some funny feeling in his vocalizer, like his voice worked a little different when he tried to sound imposing…

His vocalizer that was stricken by that blue lightning from Orion’s trinket.

Narrowing his optics, Tarn mustered the rest of his strength and proclaimed, this time intentionally:

“All hail Zeta Prime.”

The Red Knife’s leader screamed, arching his back, and his spark exploded.

Tarn stared at the smoking remains, power buzzing in his throat. Then he let his optics slowly take in the terrified bandits, all frozen and gaping at him in mortal terror.

Tarn’s fangs bared in a smirk.

“There, there,” he said softly, tuning this strange new power down and reveling in the gasps of pain from these heathens, “no need to be angry. I have no grudge against you personally. You are simply the garbage that litters the shiny road where my lord Prime is driving… And my job is to clean the garbage.” Finally he forced his broken body in a sitting position. “Now… _farewell_.”

The exploding sparks around him sounded almost like a symphony. Tarn’s own spark sang in his chest; maybe he failed to bring his Prime the traitors – but he will bring his Prime a great new weapon.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update after only a week? Is this a miracle?  
> (In fact it's just me being sick and staying at home. I'm feeling better now.)
> 
> 1 vorn = 83 years. Yeah, I know, I mix Cybertronian and human units of time.

To Megatronus’s dismay, Ratchet did ask them for help the next morning.

“Listen, um, Orion,” the medic began, deliberately not looking at the tall warrior beside him. Megatronus was going to be offended at first, but then he noticed how stiff Ratchet was, his optics also avoiding the scratches on Orion’s pelvic armor, and Megatronus’s resentment turned into amusement. He took a more comfortable pose that didn’t put weight on his injured side and prepared to watch.

“Since the Sanctuary is gone, we don’t really have anywhere to go,” Ratchet continued. His three wards were standing a little behind him, pretending that they weren’t listening to every word. “I promised these sparklings to find a safe place for them. You said you are going to southern lands. Can we go with you?” He tried to sound assertive, but Megatron saw the insecurity in his stance, the subtle evidence of Ratchet’s fear.

He really couldn’t lie to save his aft.

Before Orion could answer, Megatronus intervened:

“No.”

“Megatronus!” Now Orion spun on his heels to glare at him, but the warrior stood firm.

“No, Orion. You four,” he stopped his gaze at every one of Ratchet’s companions, “you operate under a false idea that there is a safe place on Cybertron. There isn’t. To the northwest lies the domain of Zeta Prime, the mad warlord whom we escaped. In the south the Winglords rule the many tribes of Vos, and let me tell you this: they don’t like grounders. Further southeast is Kaon, overrun by the Insecticon Swarm, and no raiders are foolish enough to travel there. Lands between the cities are roamed by wild tribes who kill for a drop of energon, or sparkeater packs. There is no other Sanctuary – and, as we know, even sanctuaries aren’t safe. It doesn’t matter where you go; if you want to survive, you have to abandon your daydreaming and learn to live in real world.”

“Then where are _you_ going?” The femme – Arcee – asked, her optics blazing in defiance. “If Cybertron is the same all around, where are you going?”

“Away from Zeta,” Megatronus replied dryly.

***

In the end, Megatronus had to accept defeat. Orion took Ratchet’s side, and in his wounded state Megatronus had no chance to win, alone against five.

Now the entire company was crammed into the crawler’s cabin, Ratchet sitting between Megatronus and Orion. Even the expression on the medic’s face when he asked perplexed Orion if the seats were cleaned wasn’t enough to cheer Megatronus up. Fury was boiling inside him, subdued and controlled for now; Orion cast apologetic glances at him from the driver’s seat, so Megatronus preferred to stare out of the window. He didn’t know how to deal with this – and he wanted to deal with this right. Orion allowed this… folly out of his reckless compassion, but that inane tendency to care about others’ well-being above his own was what attracted Megatronus to him originally. It was who Orion was.

And it was exactly why he needed Megatronus to make harsh decisions for him.

The side-glances Ratchet graced him with were much less pleasant. Megatronus just snorted under his breath; as if it was him who raided Ratchet’s Sanctuary!

At first the cabin was immersed in strained silence, but very soon the youngsters in the backseat grew tired of it and began chatting. It sounded pretty weird – what with the mix of normal Cybertronian and binary – so at last Orion couldn’t contain his curiosity.

“Why do you speak in binary, Bumblebee?” he asked, not taking his optics off the road.

The voices in the backseat faded, and it was Ratchet who answered:

“It’s not his choice, Orion Pax. Bumblebee used to speak like everybody else, until a turbofox got his throat during one of the hunts. Crushed his voicebox to bits. I repaired it as well as I could, but with the lack of supplies…” He sighed. “I hoped to try again when we reached the Sanctuary.”

Bumblebee beeped a soothing tune, patting Ratchet’s shoulder, but the old medic just grunted.

“Is it possible? To repair a voicebox?” Orion tilted his head. “I knew a medic in the Citadel, but even he would’ve called that fantasy.”

“He probably would, if all he ever saw was this Primus-forsaken wasteland,” Ratchet spat. “If I had my clinic and all the equipment I owned before the war, you bet I would be able to…”

Megatronus didn’t let him finish; the implications were so crazy that he forgot about his sulking and turned to Ratchet, ignoring the pain in his wound.

“You mean you lived _before the Great War?!_ ”

Ratchet sneered at him.

“I told you yesterday that Dai Atlas gathered people who didn’t want to fight and led them to the Sanctuary.”

“But you said it was near the end of the war! When it was clear Cybertron was dying…” Megatronus couldn’t wrap his mind around this. “How old _are_ you? You don’t look that ancient!”

“I’m pretty old, thank you very much, but not _ancient_.” Ratchet frowned. “I was forged about eighty thousand vorns ago. I knew bots older than that…”

“Eighty thousand?!” Orion forgot about driving for a moment to gape at Ratchet, and only when the crawler swiveled did he grab the wheel again.

“Yes,” Ratchet said cautiously, switching his gaze from Orion to Megatronus and back. “We are a long-living race, you know… Wait, how old are you?”

“Two thousand vorns,” Orion said.

“About nine hundred,” Megatronus added, a little surprised. He didn’t expect Orion to be that much older than him.

“What?!” Now Ratchet was gawking. Even Arcee, Bumblebee and Bulkhead were shocked. “But… But you can barely be counted as adults!”

Megatronus exchanged puzzled glances with Orion, but Ratchet was still ranting, gesturing wildly.

“You were born, right? Not forged! Primus, what kind of Pit _is_ this world?” He winced as he looked at Megatronus. “You are only somewhat older than Bulkhead!”

Megatron peeked over his shoulder at the green mech, who tried to appear smaller. So the only reason these three acted like sparklings was their upbringing.

“In the mines of Tarn you are sent to work as soon as you can understand orders.” Megatronus shrugged. “You are an adult when your frame stops to develop.”

“Barbaric,” Ratchet grumbled, visibly upset.

“Ratchet?” Arcee cut in. “What does ‘forged’ mean?”

To be honest, Megatronus was interested in that too. This topic, at least, was more appealing than Ratchet calling him a sparkling.

“It’s a way of creating new life… The old way, the safe way.” Ratchet closed his optics for a second. “Back before the war, when Cybertron was still alive, new sparks emerged from the Well of the Allsparks. They were put into protometal, and out of it they forged protoforms – a basis for a Cybertronian body; plating grew on them in the next few hours. You could put additional armor on the finalized frame, but the altmode, the size and the general look – everything is coded in the spark. As far as I know, the Well is empty and dark now.”

“It is,” Orion confirmed, and Megatronus nodded.

“It is,” Ratchet echoed, face contorted in grief – but then he collected himself. “Since that old way is impossible anymore, Cybertronians are using the emergency reproductive protocols. The whole carrying thing – it hadn’t been practiced for thousands of vorns because of the process’s inefficiency and danger. A bot who is born from the carrier is called “a sparkling”; it is underdeveloped and doesn’t have the basic knowledge and skills, since it didn’t take them from the Allspark. The frame grows pretty fast, but a sparkling needs time to learn even its main function, and it’s extremely vulnerable in that developing stage. There wasn’t much research on the carrying and growing process before the war, but from what I read, a sparkling needs about seven hundred vorns to fully mature.”

“Nonsense.” Megatronus shook his head. “Many bots don’t even live that long.”

“You mean that all people we meet… Even those rusty and half-dead scavengers… They all were born after the war? That they could be practically _children_?” Arcee’s voice trembled, and Bumblebee let out a long beep.

Megatronus snorted.

“I wouldn’t call them children, especially to their faces.”

“Maybe sparklings mature faster now,” Orion suggested.

Ratchet rubbed his nasal ridge.

“Primus… No wonder you two were so surprised. None of you had ever met an old – a really old – person.”

“Well, my mentor _was_ old,” Orion smiled. “He was a mech who saw the world before the Great War, just like you, so I think he must be at least your peer.”

“Your mentor?” Ratchet perked up. “And where is he?”

“He… died.” Megatronus had to give Orion credit: the scribe’s voice almost didn’t crack when he spoke about his beloved mentor. Orion’s face was serious, optics still concentrated on the road ahead of the crawler. “We used to live in an underground chamber in Iacon… Almost like your Sanctuary, but much smaller. It was full of books, mountains of datapads everywhere… Alpha Trion used to be a scribe, I think; he loved books, and he taught…”

“Did you say Alpha Trion?”

The tone of Ratchet’s voice incited Megatronus to study his face – and its expression demonstrated a very peculiar mix of contradictory emotions.

“What, are you gonna say he bears a name of some ancient Prime too?” Megatronus chuckled, and it was what set Ratchet off.

“Exactly! Primus, is there no limits for sacrilege in this world? One calls himself after the Fallen,” a disdainful gesture in Megatronus’s direction, “the other takes the name of the Third of the Primes! At least he didn’t name _you_ a Prime or something!” Ratchet glared at Orion – but stammered when Orion slowed down the crawler and turned to meet Ratchet’s gaze.

“My mentor,” Orion said quietly, “was the kindest and the wisest mech I’ve ever met. He raised me and shared everything he had with me. If he did bear a name of some ancient sage, he had all the right for it.”

And Ratchet backed off.

“Forgive me,” he muttered, lowering his optics. “That was a terrible thing to say. I’m sorry.”

He sounded honest, and Megatronus smirked in grim satisfaction. That arrogant medic had to be put in his place; the fact that he lived before the war didn’t give him the right to lecture them all on how life was supposed to be.

But it was Bulkhead’s voice that suddenly broke the silence.

 _“Third is the wisest, who records and observes,”_ he recited the line from the song Megatronus sang yesterday. “And you said your mentor was a scribe who loved books. It does sound like Alpha Trion.”

“Bah!” Ratchet shook his head. “You can’t possible mean that this mech could be the real Alpha Trion?”

“We will never know.” Bulkhead shrugged, smiling guilessly, and suddenly Megatronus felt a certain dose of respect for this young bot (who was, apparently, not that young, but with Ratchet’s influence he could just as well be a tiny sparkling).

“Time for you to take a break,” Megatronus told Orion, deciding to put a stop to this discussion in a different way.  “Let me take the wheel.”

Orion didn’t argue.

“Okay. I need to check something in the cargo zone.”

Megatronus had a very good idea of what Orion wanted to check: whether they were still on track according to the Key’s directions. Despite his friendliness to their new companions, Orion kept the secret, and Megatronus showed his approval with a silent nod.

***

The only thing that Megatronus liked about Ratchet and his overgrown sparklings was that they felt uncomfortable recharging in the crowded cabin. Therefore, for the night they settled in the cargo zone.

“Aren’t you afraid they are going to steal our fuel tank and escape?” Orion snickered, dropping on the seat next to Megatronus with two cubes of energon.

“Let them try.” Megatronus took a large gulp. “We will catch up with them with ease, and then there will be no reason for us to spare their miserable lives.” He bared his fangs, grinning.

“Sometimes I wonder if you are joking or serious.” Orion shook his head, but a smile was still hiding in the corners of his mouth. “At least don’t make such jokes around them; Ratchet is already expecting you to start shooting and steal his precious sparklings any time because of your past as a raider.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Wariness means respect.”

“He still badmouths you a lot.”

“He has a temper, and he never learned to keep it at bay.” Megatronus downed the rest of his cube and licked the stray drops off the edge. “I used to be like him before guards in the mine taught me the importance of keeping your thoughts to yourself.” He noticed that Orion was watching the laps of his glossa with an unusual intensity, his antennas wiggling slightly.

Trying out his theory, Megatronus collected the last drops with his claw and sucked it. Orion let out a sound suspiciously resembling a squeak.

“You don’t seem to be against their presence now.” Suddenly Orion became very interested the Key’s chain. “What changed?”

“I don’t know,” Megatronus confessed. “I was pretty angry about the way you ignored my opinion and took them in. Maybe that compassion of yours is contagious.”

He really didn’t know; that was the most baffling thing. When he was an Imperator he never tolerated such disobedience. But he wasn’t an Imperator anymore… And Orion wasn’t his soldier.

Megatronus liked it this way.

“I’m ready to give them a chance. For you,” he emphasized, cupping Orion’s cheek. “But they will have to contribute; hunt turbofoxes for fuel, do scouting work, fight if necessary. And,” he added, interrupting Orion’s attempt to say something, “as soon as we find a place where they can stay, they will leave. We cannot take them all the way to Vector Sigma.”

“Of course.” Orion nodded. “That task was entrusted to us.”

Heat coiled in Megatronus’s stomach at this “us”, and bloomed when Orion’s lips pressed to his neck. Megatronus immediately pulled him into his lap, biting his lip as the rash movement disturbed his injury.

“Woah!” Orion giggled, but then grew serious again. “How is your wound?”

“Are we going to start every frag with talks about my wound?” Megatronus nibbled on Orion’s antenna, listening to his gasps and the wheeze of accelerating cooling fans. “Does it excite you, Orion Pax? Will you stop coming to me after I get better?”

Orion expressed his indignation by shutting Megatronus up with a kiss.

They didn’t even stroke each other’s spikes this night; Orion simply rode him, rubbing their lengths between their bodies. Charge crackled around them, going out with tiny blue sparks on Orion’s antennas and on the tips of Megatronus’s fangs, flavoring their kisses with electric tingle.

At one time Megatronus thought he heard a rustle behind the hatch that led to cargo zone, but didn’t say anything, just smiled into Orion’s temple as the overload took him.

***

“If you want to return to Sonic Canyons, they begin to the south from here.” Megatronus pointed in that direction.

“I’m not sure this place is safe anymore.” Ratchet cut the turbofox’s secondary fuel tank and began pouring the liquid into the canister. “More and more people began moving through them, raiding parties and bandits and scavengers… This was the reason why we left, even though I wanted to wait a little longer to let the kids grow up.”

“I think they are doing fine,” Orion looked out of the window at the approaching form of Bumblebee, who was returning from reconnaissance. He was still a dot in the distance, but after several days of travelling together Orion learned that the yellow mech’s altmode could achieve amazing speed.

“Aren’t you going south?” Arcee closed the full canister and picked up an empty one. “Megatronus, I think you mentioned you were from Tarn. Don’t you ever miss your homeland?”

“Not really,” Megatronus muttered from his place at the steering wheel. “Orion, the scout seems agitated.”

Bumblebee indeed appeared so, dust flying in the air behind him. As soon as he was close enough, he transformed and leaped to the crawler, climbing up to the cabin.

When his beeping became more or less coherent, Ratchet put away the turbofox’s carcass.

“An injured mech? Asking for help? Of course we will check it out!”

Megatronus groaned, the irritation that almost subsided rearing its head again.

“More mechs in need? What a crowded desert!”

“Megatronus,” Orion eyed him with mild reproach. “Is he alone, Bumblebee? Far from here?”

More beeps.

“Not far, then. Let’s go.”

“Orion.” Megatronus knew there was no sense in reasoning with Ratchet and his gang, so he tried to reason with the one person that listened to him. “We can’t go helping everyone who looks sad and alone. We got lucky the first time, but one day we will walk right into a trap.”

A small palm lay on his wrist.

“Let’s just check it out,” Orion said softly. “If it looks like a trap, we will leave. I promise I won’t stop you.”

For one long, long klik they were looking in each other’s optics; even Ratchet and the others stopped talking. And finally, as if against his will, Megatronus turned the wheel, steering the crawler in the direction shown by Bumblebee.

“Thank you,” Orion said and pecked him on the cheek.

Somehow it didn’t make it better.

***

When Megatronus saw the dunes, he already got suspicious. Dunes were a bad sign – the perfect place for an ambush. The mech Bumblebee talked about was sprawled on the ground between them; there were turbofox bodies everywhere, a broken shotgun was lying to the side, and one of the mech’s legs was severed. Upon seeing the crawler he started waving at them.

“Help! Please, help me!”

And then Megatronus hit the brakes.

“What are you doing?” Ratchet grabbed his shoulder. “Look, he is alone and injured! You can’t fake a severed leg!”

“It’s a trap,” Megatronus stated, checking the charge in his cannon.

“How do you know?!”

“This mech is a raider – look at his armor and helm. A maimed raider won’t call for help, he’d know that if he gets noticed, he’ll be killed and disassembled.” Megatronus put the crawler in reverse. “You four looked out of place in the desert, this mech does not; he knows the rules and yet acts unnaturally. We are leaving.”

“But he is wounded!” Ratchet grabbed his hand, trying to stop him from driving away. “I’m a medic, it’s my duty to help when I can!”

“Ratchet is right!” Arcee grabbed his other arm. “We must help!”

“I thought you hated raiders.”

“So what? I repaired _you_!” Ratchet’s optics blazed. “Orion, tell him!”

For a moment there was silence, all optics on Orion, from Megatronus’s stern ones to Ratchet’s pleading. Finally, Orion uttered slowly:

“Megatronus knows the desert better than all of us. Let’s leave.”

It felt like a huge weight had just fallen from Megatronus’s shoulders. He nodded at Orion and started moving the crawler back.

“To the Pits with your cruelty!” Ratchet opened the door, jumped out of the cabin, transformed and drove to the wounded raider.

“No! Ratchet!” Arcee, Bumblebee and Bulkhead opened the doors too, but Orion shouted at them:

“Stay here!” He landed on the ground and transformed too, dashing after the medic. “Ratchet, come back!”

“Damn it,” Megatronus growled, trying to switch the gear quickly and move the crawler forward – and then the dunes burst with fountains of sand.

Nets and hooks flew from the vehicles no more hidden under the dunes as half of them headed to their prey. The second half opened fire at the crawler, surrounding it. The windshield was smashed into pieces, throwing the shards in Megatronus’s face; behind him the three youngsters screamed.

At last the crawler started moving forward, and Megatronus activated his fusion cannon, shooting to clear the way; his spark was thrashing around in his chest, optics fixed on Orion’s blue and red form. He saw Orion dodge a net ( _good mech_ , a thought rushed through his head, full of such fondness that his optics stung, _he is agile and clever, he will make it_ ); Orion grabbed the cable attached to the net that caught Ratchet, but then a harpoon hit his shoulder and Orion fell to his knees, _no, no, please!_

“Orion!” Megatronus kicked the crawler’s door open, holding the steering wheel with one hand. It sent the crawler into a dangerous swerve, ran over somebody, but Megatronus didn’t care; the attackers were only trying to keep the crawler away, they knew they were too few to properly assault it, they wanted to run with their captives, and Megatronus saw one of the raiders transform to the root mode and tie Orion to a jet, he was so near… “Orion!”

And Orion heard him, for he opened his chest compartment, took something small out and threw it at Megatronus. The jet’s turbines roared, blocking Megatronus’s vision with dust as it blasted off. Megatronus fired blindly, hoping that just one blast from his cannon hit the jet, but all of them missed; more and more jets were taking off around the crawler, ground-based raiders clinging to them. With a desperate cry Megatronus leaped into the air, transforming…

But the transformation sequence got stuck in the middle, the patch on his side getting in the way. Megatronus fell on the ground in a twisted tangle of limbs and plating, his wound exploding with pain that nearly knocked him out.

The dust was slowly setting down. The battlefield was covered in marks from laser shots and forgotten cables; greying bodies of unlucky raiders lied all around, one of them stuck under the tracks of the unmoving crawler. In one of the nets Ratchet was struggling, his three wards cutting the thick cables. Two dead raiders who held the net were lying nearby, one had his head crushed by Bulkhead’s fists, the other shot about twenty times by Bumblebee and Arcee.

Megatronus didn’t see any of this. He staggered to his feet, energon dripping from the crumpled patch on his side.

From his claws dangled the chain with the Key to Vector Sigma.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my dear readers!
> 
> Thank you all for your patience and for all the lovely comments you left me. They were a huge support and never failed to warm my heart. I had several very difficult months, and a writer's block to make things worse. But it looks like I'm finally back on track, so I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

Megatronus stood unmoving like a statue for several kliks, optics fixed on the horizon. A part of his mind noticed the sparklings walking around him, their steps quiet and careful, but Megatronus paid them no heed – until finally his hand balled into a fist, fingers clenching around the Key, and he spun on his heels. Quickly, meticulously he started searching the dead bodies, tearing the weapons from their limbs and collecting what ammo he could find. Spears, nets, knives, hooks, hand-made grenades – everything he could salvage. It was a pity that he had to leave the energon, but he had no time to syphon it from the corpses; he had an entire fuel tank in the crawler. While passing one of the bodies on the ground Megatronus noticed a twitch, and a short examination proved that the mech was alive, just unconscious. The raider was immediately bound and tossed into the crawler.

Finally Arcee gathered enough courage to approach him.

“Megatronus?” She gave him a crooked, wary smile. “Their brands… Look what they wear.” She held up a cut-off arm, showing him the panel protecting the shoulder. Megatronus didn’t need to look at it; he already saw this mark on the bodies he looted.

A winged crown.

“It’s the same band that destroyed the Sanctuary,” Arcee tried again, desperately trying to sound meek. Behind her Bumblebee and Bulkhead helped Ratchet up. “What… I mean, what are we going to do?”

Megatronus gritted his dental plates but ignored her. Fury was boiling in his chest – or maybe it was pain from his newly opened wound. With a grunt he lifted the heap of weapons he collected and headed to the crawler.

The heap was thrown onto the backseat, along with the unconscious raider, and Megatronus climbed up to the driver’s seat. He was in no condition to fly, but he saw where the attackers were heading. A ground-bound vessel wasn’t fast enough to catch up with fliers, but the jets had to have a base. And when the raider comes to his senses, Megatronus will ask him a couple of questions.

“Megatronus?” At last it was Ratchet’s voice, and Megatronus barely constrained a howl that threatened to tear him apart. Hissing, he forced himself to look to his side and saw the medic stand beside the crawler, his overgrown children cowering behind his back. “What are we…”

“ _I_ ,” Megatronus growled, and felt a dark satisfaction as they recoiled from the sheer hate in his tone, “am going to rescue Orion. As for _you_ ,” he spat this word like a disgusting clot of waste fluid, “I don’t care what happens to you. I would gladly kill you, and the only reason I don’t is because Orion wouldn’t want it.” Pain overwhelmed him for a moment, and Megatronus had to focus in order to keep his voice from trembling. “It’s because of _you_ that he’s gone,” he snapped. “Because of you he was abducted.  I will not take your lives, but I do hope that you die here, in the desert, along with your stupid morals.”

With that said, he slammed the cabin’s door closed and started the crawler.

***

Orion stopped struggling as soon as the jet that carried him reached a certain altitude. The sand dunes were left far below, and even if Orion managed to get himself free from the bonds, the only escape route for him would mean falling to his death – or being caught in the fall. So he clung to the jet underneath him, trying to memorize the route instead: the position of the sun, any landmarks that broke the desert’s monotony.

He just hoped Megatronus was fine. He remembered the cry of pain he heard just before the takeoff – but Ratchet was there, surely he’d take care of Megatronus’s wounds. Looking around, Orion could see that he was the only one taken. So the others must be free…

 _Maybe they are dead,_ a traitorous voice whispered in his mind. _Maybe some of the attackers stayed behind to disassemble their corpses for spare parts._

No! No, he shouldn’t think that. For all Orion knew, Megatronus and the others were alright. Orion just needed to escape and find them.

But all thoughts left him as soon as he spotted a distinct dot on the horizon – a dot that was growing larger and larger with every klik. The jets were heading straight to it, and soon Orion could see the dark mass turn into walls and bastions – all made of bare metal mounted on a rocky ridge. A different Citadel, yet eerily similar to the one Orion knew. Although with this one it was much clearer that it was built on an old energon mine: Orion could see the storage buildings and refineries in the open beyond the walls. Zeta’s Citadel was just one huge building, armored from all sides; this was a fort erected to defend the precious resources.

The gate was decorated with a giant yellow symbol of a winged crown.

The jets flew over the walls, mighty cannons on the bastions following their trajectory; Orion shuddered at the sight of pitch-black barrels trained on him like empty eye sockets. He had never seen cannons of this size before – perhaps this mine had more energon, so that they could afford weapons this big?

But as they landed in the middle of a strange round area that resembled a stadium from ancient books, Orion realized that the cannons’ size was the least of this citadel’s wonders – for a mech who stepped on the balcony above them was a _giant_.

He towered over the guards, each of whom could rival Tarn in height, his mountain of a body covered with cannons; gun barrels adorned his knees, his wrists, his shoulders – even a smaller cannon over his helm, which seemed comically tiny for such a bulky body. Every plate of the mech’s armor was painted with elegant patterns, red and gold woven to create a complex design.

Orion had never seen anything like that.

But then he was freed of his bonds, and all the raiders transformed and rose to their feet.

“Hail, Sentinel Prime!” they shouted in unison, and Orion’s optics rounded.

Prime? This mech was calling himself Prime too?

For one brief moment the terrors of being kidnapped subsided, making place for a powerful need to cover his face and laugh.

“You have returned, my children,” Sentinel, apparently, Prime uttered from his balcony (by Primus, even his ideas of how to address his people were similar to Zeta’s!). “What have you brought me?”

“A civilian, my lord.” The mech who seemed to be the leader of the raiders bowed. “We do not know his function yet. But we wrought him from the hands of some foreign raiders, so we believe he is useful.”

Interesting; they seemed to avoid mentioning the crawler and Ratchet. Did they want, perhaps, to hide the fact that they couldn’t capture another civilian and a rich booty? That could come in handy; Orion certainly wasn’t going to inform this Prime there were more mechs to capture.

But the Prime was not stupid.

“And were these foreign raiders so powerful that only a half of your warriors returned? Where are their bodies, then?”

The leader fell on one knee.

“Forgive me, my lord; they were indeed powerful, so we grabbed their prize and left. But we scared them off; I doubt they will dare to invade your lands.”

“Indeed?” Even though Orion didn’t know the leader of the raiders, he felt pity for him – so much venom was in the Prime’s voice. “And if their prize was so valuable, would they really not come for it? You disappoint me. Perhaps you need to prove your right to lead my armies.” He raised a hand, and his guards jumped down from the balcony, grabbing the raider’s arms. “Tomorrow we will test your usefulness in the arena.”

As the struggling leader was taken away, the Prime hummed and looked over the raiding party again.

“Now, bring me this civilian. Let’s see what is so valuable about him.”

Orion yelped as one of the jets grabbed him and flew up to the balcony, placing him in front of the Prime with a deep bow.

Up close Sentinel Prime appeared even huger, the mass of his immense body filling all of Orion’s vision, looming over him like an unforgiving god. The top of Orion’s head barely reached over Sentinel’s knee.

“Now, civilian… Tell me your function.”

Orion paused, wondering if he should comply – they wouldn’t just get rid of him before they learn his function, right? – but Sentinel’s voice rumbled above him again:

“Be wary, child – before you commit a sin of rebelling against a god you should consider the divine retribution. Look what blasphemy can lead to!” And he stepped to the side, letting Orion see a mech who was hidden in the shadows behind Sentinel’s back.

He was beautiful once, Orion could tell – and there were still traces of beauty in his chiseled face, but the once-bright yellow plating was dull, and his legs were broken, melted and rewired under unnatural angles, making them into two ugly stubs. The mech cast a short, disinterested glance at Orion and stared at the floor again.

“This is Sunstreaker, my beloved painter. He didn’t want to fulfill his god-given function too, but what god gives belongs to god. Now he has learned his lesson, and behold the magnificence he creates!” Sentinel gestured to his own plating, but Orion couldn’t care less for the intricate patterns, unable to tear his optics off Sunstreaker’s indifferent face. “Do not repeat his mistake, my child. Tell me, what function are you blessed with?”

“Reading and writing,” Orion answered quietly, and when he finally met Sentinel's gaze, his face was composed in a perfect show of humility. “I am a scribe, my lord.”

***

The captive raider betrayed the location of his Citadel after a cycle of precise torture; unfortunately, he refused to betray any more information, babbling about “divine punishment” instead, so Megatronus crushed his spark. Orion’s request about unnecessary killing came to his mind, but vanished as fast as it appeared; any thought of Orion hurt, so Megatronus chased these thoughts away, concentrating on the steady burn of rage in his chest. He knew how to turn this rage into a fuel for his victories – he has been doing it for all his life.

Now he was lying on a rocky ridge and watched the road leading to the attackers’ fortress. The Key for Vector Sigma rested in his subspace, and the crawler was hidden in a hollow between two dunes, protected by the evening shadows. The fortress was a tiny speck on the eastern horizon, making it hard for the possible sentries to spot Megatronus against the setting sun, but Megatronus wasn’t a fool to believe he would remain hidden for long. The night would pass, and in the clear morning air any flyer would see him immediately. Megatronus needed to come up with a plan, and fast.

Unfortunately, his plan to approach the fortress from the west also played against him: Megatronus noticed someone else approaching from that direction only when the sound of an engine reached his audials.

He jumped down from his post, wincing as the sharp movement disturbed his wound, and charged his cannon, but upon seeing the vehicle he relaxed a little.

The white-and-red ambulance slowed down, and Ratchet transformed to his root mode, raising his hands.

“Please, don’t shoot! I want to talk.”

“There is nothing to talk about.” Megatronus waved his cannon. “I already told you all I wanted to say: it’s your fault Orion was taken.”

“You’re right.”

“Now leave before… wait, what?”

“I said you’re right.” Ratchet averted his optics, his face for one losing its usual expression of gruff confidence. “I was an idiot. I didn’t listen to you two, and now it’s Orion who is paying the price for my stubbornness. But this is exactly why I came.” He looked at Megatronus again, his mouth a thin line. “I want to help you save Orion. Please.”

They both were silent for a klik, Megatronus studying Ratchet in astonishment. Finally, he lowered his cannon.

“This was not what I expected,” he confessed, not sure what else to say. He wasn’t really happy to see Ratchet, but right now any help was crucial.

“I know.” At least Ratchet appeared just as awkward. “But I want to help – and I know I _can_ help.” He gestured to Megatronus’s side, where the cracked patch was covered in dry energon. “Just let me call the others, I left them to wait for me...”

“No,” Megatronus shook his head. “Not the sparklings. They might know how to fight, but in a real operation they will be a liability.”

“I agree.” If anything, Ratchet seemed relieved that nobody intended to send his adopted children into battle. “But I promised to tell them how my meeting with you went, and they might already be worried. Then I’ll take care of your wound.”

“Very well.” Megatronus glanced at the darkening sky. “But hurry up. We only have this night to come up with a plan.”

***  

Orion sat on a hard berth, hugging his knees, blue light of his optics highlighting every scratch on his plating. This place didn’t have a glass ceiling like his room in Zeta’s Citadel, so even pale starlight didn’t break the pitch black darkness. Truly a part of a mine – a tiny pocket of space amidst the mass of rock and iron.

Was this how Megatronus spent his mining days?

Orion hid his face in his knees, gritting his dental plates. Concern for Megatronus hit him harder than any amount of concern for himself. Orion knew he would be fine; he was a scribe, a valuable asset. This other Prime, Sentinel, got him tested – made him activate an old machine by reading a manual.

The fresh brand on his shoulder still hurt – placed right over the melted scar that used to be Zeta’s brand. One that Megatronus destroyed for him.

Primus, he hoped Megatronus was alright! Orion would be fine, but Megatronus – what would he do now? Would he try to search for Vector Sigma without the guidance of the Key? Would he try to… get Orion back?

Hope fluttered in his chest, but Orion crushed it without mercy. No; it would be better if Megatronus didn’t try. They were lucky to escape one Citadel, but attacking another one? It would be madness. Maybe Megatronus will continue travelling with Ratchet, help him raise Arcee, Bulkhead and Bumblebee. And if Orion stays healthy and lulls Sentinel into believing he’s an obedient little civilian, he will get a chance to escape. They branded him, yes, but didn’t do anything more invasive. Perhaps they didn’t have a medic like Pharma, who could do complex operations? Then Ratchet should definitely stay as far from this place as possible…

The door creaked, and Orion jolted in his seat. At first it looked like a monstrous silhouette appeared against the emergency illumination of the hallway, but then Orion’s optics adjusted to the change of lighting, and he recognized Sunstreaker. The strangeness of the figure became clear: a proportionate torso of once tall mech on disfigured stubs of legs. Orion suppressed a shudder at the sight of labored, waddling steps and the difficulty with which Zeta’s painter climbed onto his berth as the door closed behind him.

“Enjoying the view?” A harsh, angry growl from Sunstreaker made Orion’s cheeks heat up.

“No! I’m sorry, I…”

“You’re a coward.” Sunstreaker sent him a short glare. “What, afraid to become something like this, are you, pretty boy?” Orion sensed rather than saw a sardonic smirk on Sunstreaker’s lips. “Told your function right away. And now Sentinel owns you, pretty or not.” 

“You resisted him, didn’t you?” Orion said softly. “You are very brave.”

“And I would’ve resisted till the end, if not for…” Sunstreaker cut himself off and turned away.

Orion didn’t probe further.

***

The sentries were the first to notice the approaching mech, and they were the first to inform Zeta Prime. So when Tarn finally reached the gate, half of the Citadel went out to greet him. Even the Useless were cheering, their miserable lives brightened by the sight of a returning hero.

Tarn stopped the motorcycle and rose to his feet, every movement resonating with pain; the motorcycle immediately dropped on the ground, rattled on the impact and transformed, turning into a grey lifeless body. The onlookers gasped, murmurs flowing over the crowd, some staring at the corpse, some pointing at Tarn’s melted and blackened armor. Tarn ignored them, for his eyes were fixed on the proud form of Zeta Prime, who awaited at the gate. As always, this sight filed Tarn with familiar awe: no matter what happened, no matter how much fate challenged him, Zeta Prime stood tall and unbreakable, a radiant god among the scurrying mortals.

“My Prime!” He dropped on one knee before his lord, and Zeta inclined his head.

“How do you return, my Imperator?”

This question made Tarn hesitate. Strange, but during the entirety of his way home he never thought about how he could answer that.

“I…” He couldn’t say “victorious”. “I will leave this to your judgement, my lord Prime.”

Zeta’s optic ridges rose slightly as a new wave of murmurs rolled through the crowd, but the Prime stopped them with a single gesture.

“Come inside, my Imperator. You will receive my judgement.”

With a pounding spark, Tarn followed him.

***

“Well? Tell me, my loyal Tarn. I see that Orion Pax is not with you. Did you at least bring me the head of the traitor Megatronus?”

Zeta was sitting on his throne now, and Tarn fell on his knees before him, every second of pain from his injuries soothing the flames of shame that burned him from the inside.

“Forgive me, my Prime,” he rasped, voice breaking. “I caught up with them at the Sea of Rust, and I mortally wounded Megatronus, but Orion Pax attacked me with a weapon I’ve never seen before – small yet powerful, it shot me with blue light. They got away, and I barely survived the acid storms of the Sea of Rust. But my faith in you, my Prime, guided me; it helped me destroy your enemies, the Red Knives band.”

He took a short in-vent and dared to look up, right into Zeta’s cold face.

“I know I failed you, my lord, but I did bring you something of value – a weapon the likes of which the world has never seen. I do not know how, but I believe Orion Pax’s magic granted it to me – a weapon to serve you and spread your glory. For now my voice can snuff sparks at my will – with no blade and no touch.”

For an entire klik the throne room fell into silence. Finally, Zeta spoke:

“Is this true?” He hadn’t moved an inch, but his optics were sharper than ever, boring into Tarn. Zeta made a short beckoning sign, and one of his servants approached. “Show me.”

Tarn glanced at the trembling servant, shame in him overcome by hope. Could he, perhaps, really amend for his failure? Oh, his Prime was kind and loving! Tarn would gladly give himself to him, dedicate his entire being to the will of his deity!

“Of course, my Prime,” he began, voice soft and optics never leaving the servant’s face. “For my life belongs to you, as does everything in this Citadel.” The servant gasped, hands clutching at his chest, but there was no weapon piercing it that he could grasp. “As should everything in this world, and one day it will belong to you. I will be the blade in your hand, the voice for your words, and my only dream is to ride into eternity with you.” The servant fell on his knees, mouth agape, and Tarn could sense the mech’s spark swelling, swirling out of order, glowing brighter and brighter. “This is my gift for you, my Prime!” And with the last exclamation the servant’s spark exploded.

Once more the room was silent, only the greying body smoking on the floor.

“Interesting. Very interesting.” Zeta made another gesture, and his guards came to collect the remains. “Come here, my child. Kneel before me.”

Tarn almost ran to the throne, prostrating himself before his god. Was he forgiven? Was his gift accepted? Will he be allowed to remain by his Prime’s side, to ride with him and die for him?

Zeta’s face was hidden behind the mask as he looked down at Tarn, but Tarn learned to understand his expressions by the shape of his optics – and Zeta wasn’t smiling. Instead he nodded to someone behind his shoulder, and before Tarn could respond something heavy hit his head from behind.

Then everything went dark.


	14. Chapter 14

Sentinel’s fortress was like and unlike Zeta’s Citadel. The basis was the same: military structure built upon energon mines – but everything else was unfamiliar to Orion.

For instance, it was larger. Instead of being crammed into narrow corridors, mechs walked out in the open here, moving between dark entrances to the tunnels. Slag and muck produced by mining and refining served as building material for shelters and storages clinging to the rock – and for the arena rising in the heart of the fortress, next to the high gate.

But because of the open space, it was also dirtier. Wind carried thick clouds of dust that clogged Orion’s vents, making him cough all the time. Dust made all the inhabitants look the same, painted with the brownish color of the desert. What was surprisingly colorful was the variety of optics.

Living in the north, Orion only saw blue optics around him – so much that Megatronus’s red ones were an oddity. Here northern blue mixed with southern red, but there were also bots with yellow, purple and even green optics – a sight Orion had never encountered before.

And all of them forgot their tasks and kneeled as Sentinel passed by them, whispering prayers and pressing hands to their sparks. Their worshipping gazes made Orion feel like something crawled under his plating. On the one hand, he could understand it: seeing a majestic giant like Sentinel walk beside you, who wouldn’t think him a god? But Orion had already seen a similar worship given to another Prime, and that Prime was no god.

Sentinel was tall, yes, but there was no proof he was more than a mortal mech.

They entered one of the tunnels, and it took some time for Orion to readjust his optics to the semi-darkness. When he could finally see again, they stood before a heavy steel door.

“Here is your workplace, scribe.” Sentinel made a wide gesture as Orion was pushed into what turned out to be a storage room. He kind of expected to see something he was used to back in the Citadel – piles of datapads stocked one on another, an entire library of lost knowledge – but the only thing in the storage room was an old, dusty chest. One of the guards opened it, and yes, there were datapads inside – but Sentinel had clearly not bothered with collecting more.

“Your task is to look through these books. Don’t read them thoroughly: read enough to understand what it’s about and move on. Every two hours you will give me a report. You are not to tell the contents of the books to anyone else. Weak minds can be vulnerable to ancient knowledge.” Sentinel cast a sharp glance at the guards, but they appeared perfectly devoted. “The room will be locked.”

With this said, he turned around and left; even though the ceilings of this place were high, the giant mech still had to bend down as he passed through the doorway. The guards followed him, and with a creak the door was shut.

Well, now. That was…. Different.

Orion eyed the chest suspiciously. It could’ve been just a test of his abilities, to see how fast he can read and sort information. But what’s with all the secrecy?

Being privy to a Prime’s secrets was never safe.

Still, being useless was even less safe, so Orion dropped on the floor next to the chest and got to work.

The first several datapads gave peculiar results. While Zeta’s library was diverse and chaotic, his raiders bringing back whatever they could find, these books were surprisingly similar: they all had something to do with the lore of the Primes. One datapad contained a description of something called the Forge of Solus Prime, the second one was a collection of prayers to Nexus Prime, the third one was a poetic list of all the Thirteen (much longer and more elaborate than Megatronus’s simple “counting song”). All the datapads had the same design as the chest itself. Perhaps it was stolen from a temple?

Was that the reason for the secrecy? Was Sentinel afraid someone would doubt he was a real Prime?

Orion was snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of the door opening. He hastily put the datapads back into the chest, leaving only a couple of them out, and followed the silent guard without protest.

Sentinel met him in what looked like private quarters, which solidified Orion’s suspicions.

“Well, scribe? Tell me what you discovered.” Sentinel made even a simple chair he resided in appear like a throne.

“I managed to decipher two datapads, my lord Prime,” Orion replied humbly. “One describes some ancient relic called the Forge of Solus Prime; it seems to be a hammer that can create whatever the owner desires. The second is a long poem naming all the Thirteen first Primes and telling the story of their downfall.”

Sentinel hummed, but didn’t question the report. Orion’s spark skipped a beat and pounded faster; so Sentinel didn’t know how long it normally took to read a text; meaning Orion could continue giving out information in small doses, while he skimmed through all the books in the chest. Perhaps he’d find something there – something he could use.

“Very well. Continue your research. Next report is in two hours.” Sentinel made a dismissing gesture, and Orion bowed, moving away.

He followed the guard back to the storage room on automatics alone. His mind, meanwhile, was racing. That’s it? Sentinel wasn’t going to catalogue the knowledge? To tell Orion what exact information he needed to extract?

When he was left alone with the datapad chest, the lock clicking behind him, the conclusion was ready in Orion’s head.

Sentinel was searching for something. For one particular piece of information, one datapad that he _really_ wanted Orion to read. And if Orion wanted to live, he needed to remain useful to Sentinel as long as possible. So he continued his work with even more enthusiasm, putting the datapads back into the chest after reading in order to keep the illusion.

Until finally he found it. The one datapad that Sentinel needed; one that contained what was, doubtlessly, Sentinel’s most important secret.

And now it was clear to Orion: after he read this book to Sentinel, the Prime would most likely kill him.

***

The daily duties of the flyers patrolling Sentinel Prime’s lands were interrupted in the most unexpected way: a monstrous vehicle was driving full-speed straight to the fortress. The flyers opened fire, and even though all their shots hit the aim, the vehicle never changed course.

“Should we inform the garrison?” one of the jets shouted. “They can send back-up!”

“And let those glitch-spawns get all the glory? No way.” The leader circled the vehicle. “I bet it’s those raiders that kicked Slide’s skidplate the day before. We will be blessed by the Prime if we bring them down!”

But the vehicle drove and drove, even as it caught fire, and the fortress’s walls were moving closer – until the yells of the garrison mechs were heard, until the heavy cannons on the bastions joined the jets’ lasers…

Until the vehicle crashed right into the gate, making it crumble on top of the crawler.

“You idiots! Sand! Throw sand on it! Don’t let it blow up!” The garrison commander had to punch several warriors for them to start listening, but finally managed to turn the chaos into some semblance of order. Firewatch manned their own cannons, using pressurized air to shoot fountains of sand that almost buried the crawler – and there was no explosion.

When Sentinel Prime came out to assess the situation, he studied his kneeling subjects and then addressed the garrison commander.

“Rise, my child.” He scrutinized the mech for a moment longer. “Report.”

“The crawler is damaged by our warriors, but is intact.” The mech was shaking, but didn’t dare to avert his gaze. “It is in need of serious repairs, but I believe we will be able to use it. It is empty.”

“No mechs inside?”

“Just one, my Prime. Appears to be the driver. He’s dead.” The commander pointed at the body that his warriors dragged out of the crawler. Gunmetal grey armor and the lack of EM field left no room for guessing. 

“Just one?” Prime’s optics narrowed. “Then it must be a diversion. Double the patrols, check any suspicious activity. I am sure it’s that foreign tribe; they came for the scribe.” He pointed at the dead body. “Take it to the repair squad for spare parts. As for you,” he looked at the garrison commander again, “you did well, my child. At the arena fights today you shall sit next to me, and you shall be painted with my blessing.”

“Th-thank you, my Prime,” the commander fell on his knees again. “I live to serve you!”

Behind him, the warriors had already carried the dead driver away.

***

The pain signals of the armor being cut registered in the neural net, and Megatronus woke up kicking. His rebooting audio receptors caught a muffled scream, and when visual feed finally loaded, he saw a mech struggling to his feet, covering his face (where, apparently, Megatronus’s kick landed). Another was transforming his hand into a circular saw, and Megatronus didn’t leave him time to strike: he grabbed the mech’s wrist, crushing it, and unsheathed his sword.

In a klik it was over. Megatronus looked over two greying frames on the floor, and then the wave of dizziness hit him. Groaning, he leaned on the slab that he occupied just a while ago as a dead body. Ratchet’s little trick worked – along with the aftereffects that Ratchet warned about.

_“Your grey armor already makes you look like a walking corpse,” Ratchet said. “Add the weakened sparkbeat, the lack of EM field and a little bit of luck – and nobody would realize you’re alive. Unless they decide to poke around under your plating, but in this case pain will trigger your systems and you’ll wake up before they take you apart. Of course, you might find yourself surrounded by thirty thugs,” he added after a short pause._

_“It is always a risk,” Megatronus agreed. “But it’s the best plan we’ve got. Do it.”_

_“Very well.” Ratchet took out his tool kit. “Now listen closely: the stasis will be induced slowly, it will feel like falling in recharge. Make sure you fix the steering wheel and put something on the gas pedal before it takes over you, so that the crawler doesn’t stray from its path.”_

_“I’m not stupid.” Megatronus lay back, forcing the armor over his spark chamber to open. “How quickly will I wake up?”_

_“Very fast. But there will be aftereffects: nausea, dizziness, loss of orientation and balance. They should pass after several kliks, but with your wound still healing it might take longer.” Ratchet ran his fingers over the new patch he made, checking it. “Please don’t strain yourself too much.”_

_Megatronus managed a crooked smile._

_“It sounds like you’re… worried for me.”_

_“I don’t want you to die.” Ratchet didn’t look up from his handiwork. “I want you to rescue Orion.”_

Megatronus still couldn’t believe he allowed the old medic to do this to him. Induce a near-death state? Mute down the spark energy so much the EM field would stop registering? Everything in Megatronus screamed in panic as Ratchet described the procedure – but even worse was the fear for Orion.

So far it seemed like his trust wasn’t betrayed. Megatronus just hoped that the rest of the things he trusted Ratchet and his sparklings with were fine as well, and the four of them weren’t driving away with the fuel tank he left them to guard.

Oh well, too late to question that. Now there was only one task ahead: find Orion and escape. Someone would come searching for him or the mechs he killed sooner or later; which meant Megatronus didn’t have much time. Besides, the dizziness was slowly dissipating.

The room where he found himself appeared to be some sort of repair workshop, judging by the tools and parts of bodies mounted on the walls. No sight of medical equipment, though; and the mechs that were working on him resembled techs more. Either the local medic didn’t bother with salvaging corpses, or there was none.

Megatronus quickly hacked the techs’ corpses into pieces, hiding them among the other spare parts littering the workshop, and shoved the heads into the closet. Hopefully they wouldn’t be discovered soon. After some deliberation, he did take one of the plates with the winged crown brand and welded it to his shoulder, suppressing his repulsion. A quick job, but it might satisfy idle onlookers.

Supposing the idle onlookers didn’t question who the unknown grey mech was. And supposing he didn’t run into the same raiders he fought in the desert.

The passageway outside of the workshop was thankfully empty; it was lit by a row of small windows. Peeking out of one of them, Megatronus cursed under his breath: there was a wide open space outside, with bots walking in all directions. Behind it Megatronus could see a rocky wall covered with dark holes, probably entrances to rooms and tunnels. And guards walking on the ledges between the holes could clearly see every inch of the square below.

There were other buildings, though. Perhaps Megatronus could move between them? Or should he wait for the night?

As if answering his musings, a low, rumbling sound rolled over the fortress; the building’s walls shook, dust falling from the ceiling – and Megatronus dashed back into the workshop as he heard voices approaching from the other end of the passageway.

“Finally! I was worried they cancelled the fights because of that crawler diversion thing.”

“They wouldn’t. It’s Slide’s fight, he’s gotta pay for failing the Prime.”

“Can’t wait to see that piece of slag get his skidplate kicked in the arena.”

The voices stopped right in front of the workshop. Megatronus froze with his back to the wall as the door was swung open, almost hitting him it the face.

“Crowbar! Rift! Are you… huh. They’re not here.”

“Did they go ahead? Fraggers.”

“Let’s move, or we get scrappy seats again.”

Megatronus let out a quiet ex-vent only when the footsteps faded. That was close…

But something the mechs said caught his attention. Arena? This place had an arena? Then it was more alike to Tarn than Megatronus thought.

And Prime. The captive raider mentioned a god ruling this fortress (he swore by his Lord Sentinel’s name that he told Megatronus everything he knew before Megatronus shot him in the head), but the fact that said “god” called himself a Prime made Megatronus grin. They were multiplying like Insecticons.

Megatronus crouched down the passageway and peeked out of the building. The large square in the middle of the fortress was quickly getting empty: everyone was heading to the round building that, without a doubt, was the arena. The guards on the walls remained, but they were high up and couldn’t probably see each individual mech’s face…

In any case, as soon as the square becomes empty, there would be no way they wouldn’t spot Megatronus. So he straightened his back, relaxed his shoulders and went out in the open, heading to the arena in confident, leisure strides. Just like everybody else.

***

Megatronus planned to sneak away from the crowd and find a hiding place somewhere under the arena, but his luck only held for so long. The guards on the walls indeed didn’t pay attention to him – but the guards patrolling the arena did.

“Hey, you! Who the frag are you? Halt!”

Megatronus pretended he didn’t understand it was him they were addressing and quickly assessed his surroundings. There were tunnels in the wall to his left, but if he ran there he’d be shot. He still couldn’t transform and take flight. Mechs at the arena entrance were busy with trying to push through and get the best of the leftover seats, but those in the rear started looking back. That left only one option.

Megatronus dashed right into the crowd, using his superior strength to shove bots out of his way – and just as some started activating their weapons, he dropped on one knee and forced his way between the mechs’ legs, toppling some of them and startling others. Megatronus just hoped that whoever built this arena used the same layout as the person who built the Grand Arena in Tarn.

They did: there, at the side of the entrance for the spectators, was a corridor circling the arena underneath the rows of seats – a dark and stuffy area separated into armories, morgues and cells, where the fighters and beasts were kept next to each other.

Megatronus ran down the corridor, hoping to find another exit; angry shouts of the guards behind him were turning into gibberish due to the bad acoustics. Joy was already bubbling in his chest – but then someone smashed into him and shoved him into one of the cells, hitting his head against the wall. The patch on his side exploded with pain on the impact.

“You,” a heated whisper filled his audials as Megatronus tried to stop the ringing in his head. “You’re an outsider. You came for the scribe, didn’t you?”

Before Megatronus could answer the stranger’s hands let go of him, and Megatronus saw his silhouette against the slightly visible outline of the doorway. Loud clanging filled the corridor – running, Megatronus realized, running mechs – and the stranger yelled:

“What the frag is going on?”

“Shut up! Outta the way, Sideswipe!” someone barked in reply, and the guards hurried past him.

The stranger – Sideswipe, apparently – returned. Pain from Megatronus’s injury was still washing over him, but the ringing subsided, and he could finally manage some words.

“You… Hid me.”

“I can still sell you out.” Now Megatronus could see his savior a little better: a sturdy young mech, neither small nor large, blue optics narrowed and arms crossed. His paintjob was impossible to distinguish in the dark. “You came here for the scribe, yes or no?”

“Yes,” Megatronus breathed out. It was slowly becoming easier to keep balance, and he activated the sword, putting it between Sideswipe and himself. “What do you want?”

“I want to offer you a deal.” Sideswipe’s optics brightened. “You help me and my brother escape too, and I help you. After we get out of here, we part ways.”

“Your brother?” Finally Megatronus got a hold of himself and rose to his full height. Sideswipe took a step back, but didn’t relent.

“Lord Prime made him his painter. He keeps him together with your scribe. I’ll help you, and you include us in your escape plan.” He made a pause, and then added, suddenly unsure: “You do have a plan, right?”

And this sounded so childlike, so demanding and yet naïve, that Megatronus couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m going to have a plan, but for this I’ll need some information.” Megatronus deactivated his sword. “Give it to me, and we have a deal.”

***

“So the arena fights are considered a ritual.” Megatronus tapped on his chin with a claw, deep in thought. They were sitting on the floor of the tiny cell as the crowd roared somewhere above.

“Yes. It’s a punishment for those who failed Lord Prime; by dying in the arena they make a sacrifice and atone for their sins. If one somehow wins the battle, it’s a cleansing of their sins, and they are allowed to start their life anew.”

“What about challenges? Does the right of challenge exist here?”

“Yes.” Sideswipe nodded. “One can challenge a higher ranking bot for their post and belongings.”

“So I can challenge, say, an Imperator?”

“A who?” the young mech frowned in confusion.

“A military leader. Like, a head warrior.”

“Ah, the Commander!” Sideswipe’s face brightened. “Wait, is this what you’re planning? To challenge someone? You can’t choose a prize, mind you; you won’t get your scribe back this way.”

“I’m not planning on winning him as a prize.” Megatronus cringed at the thought. “But I’m going to call for a challenge, this is true.”

“Then it’s the best day for it.” Sideswipe hit an open palm with his fist. “Garrison Commander Stormcloud is celebrated today for capturing your crawler. If you show up alive and challenge him, that would be something!” He snickered, and for once Megatron felt like Ratchet: surrounded by sparklings. This Sideswipe did seem pretty young…

“Has anyone ever challenged your Prime?” he asked, and Sideswipe’s joy immediately gave place to horror.

“ _Challenge Sentinel Prime?_ Of course no!” he made a warding gesture. “Who in their right mind would challenge a god?!”

“Is he a god?” Megatronus tilted his head. “How do you know that?”

“Didn’t… Didn’t you see him?! Wait, you didn’t!” Sideswipe jumped to his feet. “He is huge! A giant among mortals! Like ancient statues in old temples! He can crush a bot in one hand!”

“That doesn’t make him a god.”

“You haven’t seen him,” Sideswipe repeated stubbornly.

“And yet you want to get away from him.”

“I never said he’s a kind god.” The young mech sighed, sitting down again. “Look, you think I’m not scared? But he mutilated my brother and keeps me here, in the arena. He makes me fight the sinners like some beast, and I – I am not allowed the right of challenge. I live because Sunstreaker serves the Prime, and Sunstreaker lives because I serve the Prime. He is all-powerful here, but there are lands where Sentinel Prime doesn’t rule, and this is where I want to go. This is why I’m helping you. So when you win the Commander’s post and get close to your scribe, you will save Sunstreaker too.” Sideswipe grabbed his arm. “Swear it!”

“Of course,” Megatronus said, his mind elsewhere. “Of course.”

***

Apparently, there was another feature that was common for both Primes that Orion met: just like Zeta, Sentinel liked to show off his “treasures”. After Orion finished his report about the datapads, a low sound of a horn blew over the fortress, and Sentinel smiled.

“Come, my scribe.” He rose from his seat and clapped his hands, commanding the guards. “Time for the judgement to be passed.”

And so Orion joined Sentinel on the balcony where they first met; this time the space over them wasn’t free anymore: a thick metal net was hung over what Orion now recognized as an arena. Sunstreaker was here too, standing next to Orion slightly behind Sentinel’s shoulder. On the other side of the balcony an unfamiliar warrior was seated, his plating covered in fresh paint, especially bright where it accented his brand. The seats around the arena were full with bots, and more arrived every minute; in some places small brawls for seats were starting.

But when Sentinel raised his arms, all noise died out; mechs and femmes were looking up at him, hands pressed to their sparks.

“My children,” Sentinel proclaimed, “as your Prime, I watch over you and care for you. Today my Garrison Commander Stormcloud sits with me, for he is blessed for his virtues. And my Away Commander Slide faces retribution, for he is cursed for his misdeeds. Let the divine judgement commence!”

The crown roared, and the spiky barred door on the other side of the arena rose, letting out a small figure: it was the leader of the raiders who captured Orion.

He walked to the middle of the arena; his face was tense, but controlled. He stopped in front of the balcony and kneeled.

“I have failed you, my Lord,” he said hoarsely. “I am ready to cleanse my sins or die trying.”

Sentinel just waved – and the air was shaken by the beat of the drums. The rhythm was interrupted by a chilling howl coming from underneath the arena. Another spiky gate was raised, letting out a massive beast: red visor, long mandibles and plated greenish armor – an Insecticon. Orion shivered; he read about the Insecticon swarms devouring entire villages, and he remembered Megatronus’s tale of an entire city overrun by them. Slide looked terribly small next to it.

What followed was a slaughter. Orion had to hold back an urge to close his optics, but fear for his own life kept him alert: the battle began on the ground, but soon both Slide and the Insecticon transformed, rising into the air. Now the presence of the net over the arena became clear, and Orion desperately wished that the same net was protecting their balcony. One stray shot made him look for cover, but Sentinel outstretched his arm, shielding him, and Orion’s spark blazed hot in fury. So Sentinel wanted to show benevolence, didn’t he?

Sunstreaker next to him didn’t even react; if anything, he seemed apathetic. Perhaps he was used to it.

The fight ended with the Insecticon’s corpse falling to the ground. Slide landed next to it; he was clutching his half-torn left arm. Orion couldn’t hide a smile; he didn’t want to see the raider die for a simple misstep…

But Sentinel rose from his seat again.

“That was a splendid fight, but the trial isn’t over. If you truly want to prove yourself, you shall do it against my champion.”

The crowd burst into cheers and applause at that, but Orion noticed how Sunstreaker stiffened. He didn’t have time to think about it, because a warrior entered the balcony, hurrying to Stormcloud, and whispered something into his audial. The Garrison Commander gaped, and he stared at the warrior in terror.

“Is something wrong, my child?” Sentinel’s voice was like silk.

“My… My Lord…” Stormcloud was hesitating, but finally dropped to one knee and blurted out: “My Lord, the body of the crawler’s driver is gone.”

Crawler? Did he say _crawler_?

“And it appears he… he has been seen in the fortress, alive…”

Then gasps and yelps of astonishment from the crowd muffled his words, and both Sentinel and Orion glanced back to the arena.

Orion almost cried out; almost. He managed to cover his mouth just in time, but his spark was beating somewhere in his throat. There, on the energon-stained dust of the arena, right next to slack-jawed Slide, stood Megatronus.

“Well, well, well.” Sentinel smiled as he stepped to the balcony railings. “If it isn’t our driver, rising from the dead. And you dare to come out in the open, right to the heart of my fortress?”

“Why should I hide, oh Sentinel Prime?” To Orion’s shock, Megatronus gave a graceful bow. “I have come as an honest contender, and I wish to invoke the right of challenge.”

“Ramming my gate isn’t what we expect of honest contenders,” Sentinel replied, but he sounded intrigued.

“I simply wanted to make sure I even got the chance to reach your arena, Sentinel Prime.” Megatronus straightened his back again. “For I wish to fight for a place in your Citadel.”

Stormcloud let out a strange choked bleep. Sentinel simply smiled.

“Very well, contender. You are in your right.”

Megatronus smiled too – and Orion felt chills run down his spine, because this was the face of Megatronus who had something on his mind. Something dangerous and most likely crazy. And Megatronus’s voice rolled over the silent arena like a clap of thunder, as he raised his cannon arm in the air.

“I challenge you, Sentinel Prime!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is more plot- and action-packed, and the next one will be too, but fret not! Orion and Megs will be reunited soon.


	15. Chapter 15

The silence over the arena was oppressive. Orion trembled in his seat, afraid to look at Sentinel, unable to believe what he had just heard. And yet Megatronus still stood unwavering, glaring right at the giant Prime.

At last Sentinel regained the ability to speak, and his voice was grim as it boomed over the arena.

“You dare challenge _me_? A Prime doesn’t answer a lowly mortal’s challenge. Prime’s place is undisputed.”

“Indeed?” Megatronus’s fangs gleamed in the evening sun. “Then know that I am Megatronus of Tarn, bearer of the name of the Twelfth among original Primes – the one who stood against them all. And I challenge you for the right to bear the title of Prime.”

Sentinel’s engine growled – and in the next moment Orion yelped as he was snatched by his throat and lifted in the air.

“Do not cover your lies with blasphemy, heathen. _This_ is what you came for.” Sentinel shook him as Orion clawed at his hand in vain. “How about I crush your precious scribe’s spark? Will you dare challenge me then?”

Red warnings flashed on Orion’s HUD as the energon flow to his head was cut off, and through the ringing in his audials he heard Megatronus reply:

“Then you are truly afraid of me. So afraid that you will destroy a priceless treasure just to avoid the challenge.”

Then the pressure on his throat vanished, and Orion was dumped on the balcony’s floor, gasping as precious energon flowed again and his optics stopped flickering. Above him Sentinel leaned over the railing.

“The Prime is afraid of nothing. If you want to fight me, heathen, first prove that you are worth the honor. Slide!”

Orion managed to get on his feet just in time to see the forgotten Away Commander step forward.

“Yes, my Lord?”

“You want absolution – here is your chance to earn it. Defeat this fool!”

***

Megatronus let out a sigh of relief when Orion’s head appeared over the balcony railing. For one klik he was afraid that Sentinel would really kill the scribe.

But then he didn’t have any more time for thought, because the gladiator who fought in the arena before him leaped into the air, transforming into a jet, and started shooting.

Megatronus cursed, rolling away from the line of fire. If he could transform himself, the battle against an injured enemy wouldn’t be hard, but Megatronus’s own injury made flying impossible. Oh well, nobody said it would be easy.

Still, his fusion cannon was intact, so the battle didn’t take long. The opponent was skilled, but tired, and Megatronus, being a flyer himself, knew most of the jet’s moves. The trick was to shoot him from the sky – and on the ground the lithe mech was no match for Megatronus’s heavy frame.

He pointed at the deceased Commander’s body with his sword, addressing the balcony.

“I have done what you wished, Sentinel Prime.” Megatronus forced himself to ignore Orion’s face. Now that he saw Orion again, now that he knew Orion was alive, all promises resurfaced in his mind: no unnecessary killing. But this was necessary, right? This was the arena.

Megatronus knew how to act in the arena.

“Indeed you have.” Sentinel uttered, standing up again. He was truly a massive mech, Sideswipe wasn’t exaggerating. There was small wonder so many bots believed he was a god.

No; no, he was no god. Megatronus had to believe in this. This was an ordinary mech, and Megatronus would fight and slay him, like every other ordinary mech.

“However,” Sentinel continued, “this warrior has already had a battle before you arrived. There is no glory in killing a weak adversary. Defeat my champion, heathen, and you will have your challenge.”

The crowd perked up. Cheers and applause began here and there, and the cacophony of voices soon grew into a chant of the same name: 

“SIDESWIPE! SIDESWIPE! SIDESWIPE!”

Oh, no.

***

When Sideswipe (whose plating turned out to be red in the light of day) entered the arena, it became clear just how young he was: younger than Megatronus, younger than Ratchet’s wards. Pits, if the old medic was here, he’d probably throw a fit. Even Megatronus himself suddenly felt uncomfortable fighting such a sparkling; perhaps Ratchet’s lectures had rubbed off him.

Yet Sideswipe unsheathed two crooked swords and took a stance like a seasoned warrior; his position of the champion of the arena was definitely well-earned.

His face was furious.

“What have you done,” he muttered through gritted dental plates as he and Megatronus slowly circled each other. “You were supposed to challenge Stormcloud!”

“Killing your Prime will solve all problems at once,” Megatronus answered quietly. “I can beat him.”

“No you can’t.” Sideswipe’s optics flashed, his voice breaking up. “You screwed it all.” The last word turned into a growl, and he attacked.

“I can beat him,” Megatronus repeated, blocking with his own sword. “I can’t promise it, but it’s possible. I just need to get to him.” He made a thrust of his own, gritting his dental plates as Sideswipe parried. “Throw the fight. Don’t injure me.”

It only angered Sideswipe more; his optics flashed as he charged, swords swirling like rotors.

“You screwed it all!”

Megatronus dodged, trying not to hurt the desperate youth.

“Throw the fight,” he repeated, trying to keep his voice calm. “Sideswipe!”

***

Orion gasped when Megatronus’s sword clashed with the red mech’s blades. He tried to calm himself down; this was only one opponent, Megatronus was a great warrior, he’d be fine… But even Orion could tell that the other mech was good.

Because of that it was some kliks into the fight that Orion noticed how Sunstreaker’s pose next to him changed. The painter, who was almost lethargic before, now had his optics glued to the arena, following the red mech’s movements with painful intensity.

“Sunstreaker?” Orion touched his hand. “What..?”

But he was interrupted by Sentinel, who put a heavy palm on Sunstreaker’s head, like he was some pet.

“Do not worry, my dear painter,” he rumbled. “I am sure your brother will put this upstart in his place.” Sentinel cast a glance at Orion, but the scribe was too busy swallowing this new information to react. Brother? This was Sunstreaker’s brother?

And Sunstreaker flinched with every blow delivered to his brother’s frame, just as Orion bit his lip when Megatronus missed a hit, while Sentinel watched over them, smiling.

Sideswipe transformed, trying to run his opponent over, which put Megatronus on defense.

“Interesting,” Sentinel murmured, “he doesn’t transform. That patch on his side must be covering a serious wound.”

Orion forced down a cry.

But then, just as Sideswipe transformed into his root mode to finish the seemingly disoriented enemy, Megatronus dashed forward, grabbed him by the leg and flung him across the arena. Sideswipe crashed into the wall and fell down – motionless.

The crowd gasped, some viewers jumping from their seats. There was something resembling a cheer beginning over the tribunes, but it died out when Sentinel rose to his feet, his ice-cold EM field weighing down on Orion like a ton of rock.

“I defeated your champion!” Megatronus shouted from below. “I challenge you, Sentinel Prime!”

For one moment Orion thought Sentinel was going to start destroying everything around him, but the Prime held back. He even managed to keep his tone even.

“Very well, heathen. Tomorrow I will meet you in battle, and you will die.”

“Just make sure I don’t die this night in some accident, oh great Prime!” Megatronus added. “Or people might think you are afraid of a mortal.”

Sentinel’s fists clenched.

“Of course, heathen. I won’t leave the pleasure of snuffing your spark to anyone else.”

Then he spun around, preparing to leave.

“Sunstreaker. Prepare a new paintjob for me. You will paint me for this battle. And you,” Sentinel’s optics stopped on Orion. “Get back to work. No recharge for you until you finish that chest.”

“Is there anything I should be looking…?” Orion began, but Sentinel grabbed him by the throat again and hissed:

“Just. Read. Them.”

Then he was dropped back, and Sentinel’s ground-shaking steps passed by.

***

Now Orion didn’t have to pretend to be working slowly: his mind kept drifting back to his friend. Where was Megatronus now? Was he safe? Yes, he tried to secure his safety during the night by calling Sentinel out on the possibility of “accidents”, but Sentinel could’ve changed his mind, or some of his worshippers could be overly devoted…

And Orion couldn’t do anything about it. He touched his throat cables, cringing – he was dangling in Sentinel’s grasp like a piece of junk, while Megatronus risked his life to rescue him. Pathetic.

His train of thought was interrupted by the guard entering the room to take him for the report. However, when he was pushed into Sentinel’s quarters, there was no one there except for Sunstreaker. The painter was sitting on the floor with a metal plate in his hands, and it looked like he’s been waiting for a while.

But before Orion could come up with a question, a muffled yell resonated through the chamber, followed by a crash. The wall trembled, thin streams of dust falling from the ceiling. Someone – presumably Sentinel – was raging in the next room; even the heavy armored door didn’t block the sounds.

Well. Makes sense that the guards preferred to stay out of Sentinel’s quarters.

“Do you know what’s going on there?” Orion asked the painter.

Sunstreaker only shrugged.

“Lord Prime seems to be interrogating the prisoners again.” He shook his head. “They are fools for defying him. They’ll just die in the mines.”

“Prisoners?”

“Yes, they got captured several vorns ago.” Sunstreaker seemed undisturbed by the sounds. “Weird, I thought Lord Prime has given up on them. Apparently, no.”

A certain suspicion arose in Orion’s mind; could those prisoners be..?

But no, he didn’t dare to ask. The less knowledge you show, the better.

“You look pretty cheerful,” he said instead. “Are you… alright? Regarding your brother…”

“Ah!” Sunstreaker suddenly beamed, and Orion gawked at him: such a reaction was the last thing he expected. Like a ray of sunlight cut through the painter’s usual apathy. “I got a message from my brother! He’s alive! Can you believe it? That foreign raider, that Megatron – he simply knocked my brother out. Didn’t even hurt him much!”

“Megatronus,” Orion corrected automatically, as relief washed over him. So Megatronus remembered! He didn’t just kill all who stood in his way, he did show mercy! Sunstreaker’s brother was probably there against his will, he was most likely the reason the painter chose to obey Sentinel in the end…

“Whatever. Pity he’ll die tomorrow.” Sunstreaker’s tone turned solemn. “He’s crazy, that Megatron-es.”

Orion was watching the changing emotions on Sunstreaker’s face, but then his gaze fell on the plate in the painter’s lap – and suddenly he was struck by an idea. He wasn’t going to give Sentinel the information the Prime needed… But perhaps he could give it to Megatronus.

“Sunstreaker,” Orion said, wheels in his mind turning like mad, “you’re going to paint Sentinel’s armor, right?”

“Yeah.” Sunstreaker turned his plate, showing Orion a sketch of a mech’s figure covered in intricate patterns. “That’s what I’m gonna suggest him.”

Orion nodded, raising his optics to look right at Sunstreaker.

“Do you want to be free of Sentinel?” he asked quietly. “Do you want to see Megatronus defeat him?”

Sunstreaker gaped at him.

“I…” He paused, glancing to the side, checking for safety. “Of course I do,” he whispered. “But it’s impossible. Nobody can beat a god. Or…” He frowned, looking back at Orion. “Did Megatron-es speak the truth? Does he really bear the power of an ancient Prime?”

“He can beat Sentinel,” Orion answered diplomatically. He really didn’t want to start the discussion on godhood and Prime’s power. “I can’t guarantee it, but I know there is a chance. I believe in it.” He had to. He had to believe in Megatronus, because the other option was to see his friend die. “But we can make this chance higher. It won’t take much, just a little thing.” He dropped on his knees next to Sunstreaker, touched a wet paint spot on the plate and wrote a glyph next to the sketch. “Can you draw this on Sentinel’s armor? Somewhere where it’s visible?”

“I can… If Lord Prime approves of my design.” Sunstreaker studied the glyph curiously. “What is it? Some sort of curse?”

“Not really… But something like that.” Orion sent him a smile, although he didn’t feel as confident as he wanted to appear. “With this, Megatronus might yet defeat Sentinel.”

“Will he be a better god?” Sunstreaker’s optics grew glazy. “I guess you know him, but… Is it worth it?”

Orion’s spark clenched in his chest, and he grabbed Sunstreaker’s palm.

“You and your brother will be free,” he swore, squeezing the painter’s fingers. “I promise.”

***

Surprisingly enough, nobody attacked Megatronus during the night; Sentinel kept his word. Or maybe he really wanted to crush the insolent stranger himself.

Sideswipe told Megatronus all he thought about him after the young mech came to his senses. To be fully honest, Megatronus kind of agreed with most of those characteristics. After seeing the Prime, challenging him really appeared like a lost cause; he almost believed that the gigantic mech was a god. Almost.

He didn’t recharge this night – didn’t trust Sentinel and his followers enough to recharge. The small room he was given had a window, so Megatronus spent the night staring at the starry sky. Lately he got used to having the bottomless pool of stars over his head, but this fortress reminded him of what it truly was: a luxury you had to fight for.

He didn’t have this luxury until he got to the arena. Since his birth and until his fourth hundred of vorns he spent all his life underground, in the darkness of the tunnels below Tarn. However, his first taste of freedom came earlier.

He remembered a low rumble that rolled through the tunnels, the multiple explosions and the shattering walls; the miners were screaming, trying to escape the falling ceiling, and Megatronus remembered the hot-cold wave of panic that overflowed him. The walls collapsed around him, and for several terrible moments he was trapped, overheating and thrashing around frantically.

Until the rock gave. Even then Megatronus sported remarkable strength; he crawled out of the rubble, dirty, covered in dust and his own energon – only to freeze as he cleaned his optics.

Because the tunnel’s ceiling was gone. All ceilings were gone; Megatronus was standing in a crater formed by a collapsed mine, and above him, as far as he could look, was the clear starry sky.

The first thing he felt was fear – for a moment it seemed that the ground would disappear from under his feet and he would fall into that black abyss above. Yet just as quickly as it came, fear was gone, and then Megatronus – who didn’t even bear this name back then, he was just unit D-16 – _wanted_ to fall in the sky; he wanted to drown in that freedom, in that beauty the likes of which he had never seen before and for which he didn’t have words. But then he looked down – and saw the jagged rocks and the twisted body parts of those miners who were less lucky than him, heard the moans of wounded and the cussing of guards.

Everything in this world had a price.

Megatronus blinked, coming back from the memories, and glanced at the item he was twirling in his fingers. It was a special chip Ratchet gave him – something he called a “stimulator virus”. A program that, once activated, would block pain receptors and force all systems to perform at their peak.

Ratchet insisted that Megatronus should only use it in case of emergency. But fighting a god did sound like an emergency.

Tomorrow, when he will face Sentinel, the Prime won’t get an easy fight.

***

It was time. All seats at the arena were full, the air itself crackling with charge from numerous EM fields. Even the guards who stood by Orion’s side at the balcony nearly skipped with excitement.

However, Orion himself felt numb; the buzz of hundreds of voices seemed distant, and Orion’s limbs moved sluggishly, even while his spark pounded heavily and his stomach turned.

He got no recharge this night; Sentinel made him read through the datapads up until the last minute, growing angrier with each report. Still Orion kept his pretense, refusing to give the Prime the information he so desperately sought.

His wrist still hurt after Sentinel crushed it in his monstrous palm, leaving Orion’s left hand useless.

But none of this mattered right now. The entire world grew smaller, focusing on the ring of the arena, where Megatronus stood in front of a hulking mass of a mech that was Sentinel Prime. Rays of light played on his polished armor, illuminating the swirls and spirals Sunstreaker painted on it.

Orion just hoped that Megatronus got his message.

***

Strangely enough, the familiar atmosphere of an arena calmed Megatronus down – or rather, brought him to that perfect mindset when he was agitated enough to be alert and rely on his instincts, but confident enough not to allow fear to overcome him. Ratchet’s virus code flowed through his systems, and this was a gladiatorial fight. He won dozens of those.

“Prepare for your destruction, heathen,” Sentinel proclaimed, but Megatronus didn’t bother with replying. He was busy studying his opponent, assessing his stance and searching for weaknesses behind the bright plating, when his attention was caught by something. A familiar shape, one that didn’t quite belong here.

Right in the middle of Sentinel’s chest, where the painted patterns wove together, there was a glyph: drawn by a slightly uncertain hand, that, perhaps, didn’t quite get the meaning behind this particular element – but still very recognizable.

A glyph for “suit of armor”.

Megatronus cast a quick glance up, to the balcony above – and there was Orion, clutching the railing and meeting his gaze, his entire body leaned forward. Orion gave him a slight nod – and a smirk bloomed on Megatronus’s lips.

Suit of armor.

This explained everything – Sentinel’s size, his unproportionally small head, the way he moved… Well, then. Megatronus was right: Sentinel was no god. He was simply a mech who wore battle armor – which meant that all Megatronus needed to do was to carve him out of it.

Sentinel noticed the change in Megatronus’s demeanor – for his face darkened, and when the match began, he didn’t waste time for boasts anymore; instead, he attacked with the force of a tank.

But Megatronus knew when to rely on his strength, and when to opt for speed; fortunately, his frame type allowed both. He dodged Sentinel’s blows that shattered the arena floor, danced around the swishes of the Prime’s blade and the laser fire of his cannons, slipped behind him, looking for a weak spot, a seam – anything that could help to start cracking the armor’s shell.

And yet with every klik Megatronus was slowly coming to realization that there weren’t any. Whoever made this armor made it marvelously – which meant that time went by, and Megatronus didn’t do the slightest damage to his opponent. He attempted some hits and shots, but they didn’t leave a scratch on the Prime’s plating.

This was turning into a battle of attrition, and Megatronus knew he would lose it. Yes, his wound didn’t hurt and he still felt fresh and full of energy – but that was the stimulator’s influence. It simply meant that Megatronus would fall dead of exhaustion before he noticed it.

If there were no cracks in Sentinel’s armor, it left only one option: the point where the armor clearly had an opening.

Moving behind Sentinel, Megatronus waited for the perfect timing – and jumped up. He grabbed a piece of kibble on Sentinel’s thigh, used a cannon on his knee as a ledge and climbed up – to the ridges on Sentinel’s back, to the shoulder pads… The Prime roared, spinning on his heels, trying to shake Megatronus off, but the bulk of his armor turned into a disadvantage: Sentinel wasn’t flexible enough to reach his back.

Unfortunately, when Megatronus got to his head, Sentinel was able to catch him – but not before Megatronus aimed his fusion cannon and fired. The Prime’s grip loosened as he cried in pain, and there it was – the opening: between the plates that comprised the Prime’s collar. Megatronus took a hold of those plates, using his claws to dig deeper; the hydraulics in his arms creaked with strain – but finally, finally the armor gave. There was a crack – and it fell apart, leaving Sentinel’s chestplate hanging like an empty shell.

Megatronus didn’t waste time by figuring out what real Sentinel looked like: he seized the mech inside, plucked him from the armor, hurling him to the ground, and jumped down after him.

Behind them, the powerful but empty colossus of a suit stood for a klik more before falling with an earth-shattering crash.

For a short while the arena was silent. The spectators were speechless; all optics were focused on the display before them, but nobody knew how to react. And among the settling dust Megatronus was able to see his opponent at last.

Sentinel staggered to his feet; he was still a large mech, as tall as Megatronus himself. His paintjob, once red and orange, was scuffed and pale after what was probably an eternity of wearing the armor. He seemed like he wanted to say something –

Megatronus didn’t give him a chance: raising his cannon, he shot the mech through his chest.

This time there was a sound – a gasp of a thousand bots, all witnessing the death of their idol. Someone they probably considered immortal.

Megatronus closed his optics for a moment, trying to calm his racing spark. Energon roared in his audials like a bloodthirsty crowd, and the stimulator virus still poisoned him, making his hands twitch with unspent energy. But he had one more thing to do.

Leaning down, he grabbed Sentinel by his throat and lifted his corpse, showing it to the tribunes.

“Here is your god!” he shouted, shaking the body. “Here is the mech you worshipped! I bested him and killed him! Does it make me a god too?”

He tossed the body into the dust and raised his arms.

“But I am no deity! I am Megatronus of Tarn, and I am a mortal mech, like all of you! Like he was!” He turned around slowly, making sure he looked over the entire arena. “Far to the north there rules another mech who calls himself Prime. But he is no god as well! He is a liar and a deceiver – just like your Sentinel.” He pointed at the broken armor. “I challenged your Prime and won his place – and I say that there shall be no Primes anymore. The deception ends now!”

With this said, he lowered his arms, letting his words sink. And, as if in reply, a murmur started over the tribunes, growing and turning into a bellow:

“Megatron! MEGATRON! **MEGATRON!** ”   

Megatronus didn’t try to correct them – he couldn’t outcry so many people anyway. Instead he glanced at the balcony – but Orion wasn’t there anymore.

Terror clutched Megatronus’s spark – how could he forget about Orion? How could he miss what happened? Those guards, they probably dragged him away…

But then the gate that Sentinel originally used to enter the arena opened, and Orion was running towards him, alive, his optics shimmering.

Megatronus didn’t care about the crowd anymore, didn’t care about the chanting and cheering: he caught Orion and pressed him to his chest so hard their armor creaked.

Or maybe it was his spark breaking through its casing.

“You’re okay,” Orion mumbled, pressing his face to the grey plating. “You’re okay…”

Megatronus didn’t try to come up with a clever answer; he just said the first stupid thing that came to his mind.

“Did you forget? _Journeys end in lovers meeting._ ” He cupped Orion’s cheek and smiled. _“Every wise man’s son doth know.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the cheesiest megop scene I've ever written, but I couldn't help myself. ;w;


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, dear readers, this story is not forgotten. My thesis has devoured all my writing energy for a while, and I'm glad to finally be done with it. However, just as I promised, there will be some megop goodness in this chapter. ;) Enjoy!

Megatronus woke up to an unfamiliar ceiling – painted orange and decorated with geometric patterns. This wasn’t the crawler’s cabin… He squinted and tried to sit up, only to groan as the room started spinning before his optics. His fuel tanks lurched, and he almost threw up.

“Easy there! You shouldn’t make such rash movements.” Red and white hands lay on his shoulders, pushing him down, and for once Megatronus didn’t feel the need to object.

“R-ratchet?” he rasped. The words seemed to scratch his throat, dry and hoarse.

“Yes. Easy, you’re safe. We all are safe. You’re just suffering from the aftereffects of the stimulator.”

Right; the stimulator. Megatronus shut his optics for a moment, collecting his memories. After his victory over Sentinel he managed to go on for a while: giving commands, sending Sideswipe to fetch Ratchet and the sparklings, bringing the fortress’s inhabitants to order… And then, when they went inside to see Sentinel’s chambers, everything went black.

“The stimulator ran out, and you collapsed,” Ratchet explained. Megatronus managed to open his optics again and saw the medic insert a jack into his medical port. “I saw the remains of that Prime… Even with a stimulator, I don’t know how you managed to defeat him.”

“Orion… told me how,” Megatronus muttered, and then promptly sat up. “Orion! Where…”

“He’s fine, fine! Lie down, you big fool!” Ratchet pushed him down again, but this time, even with the wave of dizziness on his side, the medic didn’t succeed. “I said he’s fine! He and that kid, Sideswipe, are outside, watching the locals. Although I don’t think they’ll give us much trouble – they treat you like some kind of god.”

Megatronus cringed, but didn’t comment.  Perhaps for now it was better this way… While he was weak and incapacitated.

“I’ll go tell Orion you are awake,” Ratchet said, disconnecting and closing the medical port. Megatronus just nodded, but then his gaze fell on another frame lying on a slab next to him. A yellow mech with ugly stubs for legs, unconscious.

“Who is this?”

“Ah… This is Sideswipe’s brother.” Ratchet’s face darkened. “Barbarians! They deliberately mutilated him! I can’t repair him fully until I get the right spare parts, but at least I fixed his stubs, so there is something I can attach new legs to.” With that said, he headed to the door. “Wait here, I’ll tell Orion to come.”

“Wait here” wasn’t something Megatronus was ready to do. As soon as Ratchet’s steps grew silent, he propped himself up and put his legs off the slab. Every movement resonated with pain in his joints and with vertigo in his head, but Megatronus knew how to deal with it. Slow, steady; step by step.

He looked around, taking in the chamber’s furnishing. Rich, luxurious – brightly colored paintings on the walls, pillows everywhere, weaponry and jewels. The weapons were too big for a normal mech to carry, Megatronus noted with regret. So this had to be Sentinel’s quarters…

He staggered on his feet, waiting for the dizziness to pass. No time to lie around, he couldn’t trust the fortress’s inhabitants, no way it was safe for Orion and the rest to be here… But as soon as he opened the door and found himself in the hallway outside, three pairs of optics greeted him.

“You’re on your feet already?” Arcee’s shocked tone was echoed by a long beep from Bumblebee.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” Bulkhead added. “Ratchet said you needed rest.”

All three were standing next to his door. All three looked concerned.

“What… are you doing here?” Megatronus asked, and the sparklings exchanged confused glances.

“Protecting you, of course!”

“Can’t just leave you there, what if someone decides to hurt you?” Arcee waved her hand blasters.

Megatronus just stood there, speechless. He… had no idea how to react to this.

But his thought process was quickly interrupted.

_“What in the Pits are you doing out of berth?!”_

“Megatronus!”

Ratchet’s angry ramblings were immediately forgotten. Megatronus sighed in relief as he saw Orion hurry down the hallway, safe, unharmed! Sideswipe was walking behind him, but for now Megatronus didn’t care.

“You are alright,” Megatronus breathed out, pulling the scribe towards him and almost falling down, as he had to let go of the wall. But Orion didn’t waver, taking his weight and supporting him, and so they remained standing, intertwined.

“Are you joking? _You_ are alright, this is what matters now!” Orion laughed into his chest. “Don’t worry, we have everything under control. I am your representative now, apparently, since people saw you hug me in the arena.” He chuckled. “So they actually listen to what I say.”

Megatronus didn’t know how to reply; it felt strange – having someone else take care of things. He wasn’t sure if it was unpleasant.

“I am glad you are getting better, Lord Megatron,” Sideswipe said from behind of Orion’s shoulder. Megatronus raised an eyebrow. Lord..? “Your subjects will be eager to see you address them again.”

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. But before Megatronus could answer or retort, Orion snapped his fingers.

“Wait! We have good news too! Ratchet!” He turned to the medic, never releasing his grip on Megatronus. “We found them!”

“Them?” Ratchet frowned. “Found whom?”

Heavy steps were heard from the hallway behind them. A mech was walking up the stairs, and with each step he was growing taller and taller. He wasn’t as giant as Sentinel, but he still dwarfed Megatronus; his armor must have been beautiful once, but the proud finials on his helm were broken, glass elements shattered and smashed, some plates torn off and the rest covered in a layer of soot and grime. Yet still the mech carried himself with such pride and dignity that made everybody else feel insignificant next to him.

Ratchet’s gasp broke the silence, but even as all optics were on him now, the medic himself couldn’t tear his gaze off the tall mech.

“Dai Atlas…” he whispered, and then cried out: “Dai Atlas! You’re alive!”

“Ratchet?” The mech squinted, like one who spent too much time in the darkness. “Is this you? We thought you perished on the surface.”

Although it seemed Ratchet was ready to storm to Dai Atlas and squeeze him in a hug, like Orion did with Megatronus, the medic held back.

“By Primus…” Ratchet hid his face in his hands. “I though _you_ perished! When I heard the news of the Sanctuary…”

“We were attacked, yes.” The mech lowered his head. “Many of our comrades died defending it, but the barbarians knew no mercy. They only took a handful of us prisoner… Those who didn’t fight – and me. And then that deranged false Prime of theirs tried to question us about ‘civilian work’.” Dai Atlas curved his lips in detestation. “If he needed medics or engineers, he shouldn’t have let his hoard kill them!”

“They didn’t realize,” Megatronus said, and for the first time Dai Atlas’s blue optics focused on him. Under this stare Megatronus felt small, but that only encouraged him to straighten his back and continue: “The raiders didn’t realize your people were civilians because they took arms and fought.”

“Do these barbarians believe a mech can only fulfill one function?” Dai Atlas asked, the resentment on his face growing.

“Yes. And you were taken as a trophy.” Megatronus met his gaze and held it, refusing to submit.

Ratchet coughed, clearly uncomfortable with this subtle confrontation.

“Right. I, um, didn’t introduce you. Everyone, this is Dai Atlas, the leader and creator of the Sanctuary. Dai Atlas, this is Megatronus… The mech who defeated Sentinel Prime. I believe you already know Orion; he and Megatronus helped us when we were lost in the desert. And this is Arcee, Bumblebee and Bulkhead… my wards. They are all surface-born,” He added, which sounded suspiciously like an apology. Megatronus only lifted his chin higher.

But Dai Atlas wasn’t a bad mech, after all. He put his hand to his chest and bowed.

“Please accept my deepest gratitude for your help to Ratchet - and for defeating the false Prime. Without you my people and myself would be rotting in the mines for our refusal to work with him. If there is anything I can do to repay this debt, I will do it – unless it goes against my honor.”

Megatronus’s “yeah, I’ll think about it” was muffled by Orion’s “you’re welcome!”

***

“Hail, Lord Megatron!”

Megatronus just sighed, but didn’t correct the greeting. He had already spent several days trying to teach the locals his name, but it seemed that it was futile: the initial “Megatron” had stuck, or maybe it was just hard for them to pronounce the archaic ending. He was more optimistic about the “Lord” part, though: it seemed that as long as he continued to act like a normal mech around the fortress, its inhabitants would get used to the fact that he was no god. Those who refused to let go of their faith in their Prime left the fortress after Sentinel’s fall, but those who stayed were still deep in confusion. At least they weren’t calling Megatronus a Prime…

“Sideswipe, seriously.”

“Okay, okay, sorry.” The little pest was grinning, so at least he didn’t mean it. “I just wanted to ask you something. About your battle with Sentinel Prime. How did you know it was a suit of armor?”

“Ah, this.” Megatronus grinned as he rested on the back on his seat. “Orion learned about it – and left me a message with the help of your brother. I read it on his armor.”

“ _Read_?” Sideswipe’s optics widened. “But… how? You are not a scribe! Are you?”

Megatronus laughed, but an idea was already forming in his head.

“No, of course not. I was born a miner. I learned to read.” He winked at Sideswipe. “Would you like to try?”

“What do you mean ‘to try’? To try reading? But… But I’m not…”

“You’re not a scribe, just like I wasn’t. But I learned. What if you can too?” Megatronus stood up, his energon boiling. “Come on! Let’s talk to Orion.”

***

Sideswipe learned. It made Megatronus feel somewhat less special (he was secretly proud of his rare ability), but on the other hand he was elated. It was possible! He was right! Mechs were able to learn things outside their function!

Excitement filled his fuel lines when he watched Sideswipe sit on Sunstreaker’s berth, reading out loud to his awed brother, putting syllable next to syllable. Sunstreaker was just as excited, although a big part of his joy was probably caused by the new legs that were attached to his stubs. They were nothing but bare endoskeleton so far, and Ratchet was still working on them, but to Sunstreaker (and to everyone else in the fortress) they looked like a miracle. For many of them it was the first time they ever saw a medic work. Megatronus – or, as everybody called him here, Megatron – suddenly found himself remembering Pharma with fondness. Now that he saw a line of mechs and femmes, all lacking a limb or an optic, all looking at Ratchet with uncertain hope, he remembered what it was like, not to have any access to medical help.

The only ones who weren’t impressed by these discoveries were Dai Atlas and the small group of survivors from the Sanctuary, who were rescued from the mines.

“Of course anyone can learn to read,” Dai Atlas snorted. “It’s a basic skill, just like fighting.”

“The knowledge about it was lost after the war,” Orion replied diplomatically, and Megatronus thanked him in his head. He sometimes had to fight the urge to strangle the arrogant Sanctuary leader.

“As was the knowledge of the Primes, apparently.” Dai Atlas cast a side-glance at Megatronus.

“Yeah, Ratchet has already expressed his disapproval of me bearing the name of the Fallen.” Megatronus smirked. “You can call me Megatron, if my name offends you. I’m kind of getting used to it.”

“Megatronus, you shouldn’t change your name only because others don’t…” Orion began, but the grey mech raised his palm.

“No, it’s okay, Orion. I like it, actually.” His smirk turned into an honest smile as soon as he addressed Orion. “This name would be my own. There is no other Megatron.” 

***

“No other Megatron, you say?” Orion smiled, closing the door of the room they shared behind him.

“Would you prefer that I remain Megatronus?”

“No.” Orion shook his head, his optics twinkling. “You’re right. There is nobody else like you.”

Despite himself, Megatron felt his cheeks heat up. For some reason, Orion’s simple compliments always washed over him like good oil.

But then he noticed Orion’s expression change as the scribe sat down on the berth.

“Orion? What is it?”

“I’m just… I’m thinking about this fortress. It used to be a hive of raiders, but now that their Prime is gone they seem lost… And they look at you for guidance.” He fell silent for a moment, gaze wandering everywhere except in Megatron’s direction. “Would it be… Do you think we can stay here? For a little? Just to get some rest?”

Orion’s fingers reached for his chest, where in the subspace the Key to Vector Sigma was resting, and Megatron didn’t need any more explanations. That blasted quest… He forgot about it, even though it was him who returned the Key to Orion several days ago.

“Of course we can stay.” The words fell from his mouth too easily. “You are right, we need rest. And meanwhile we will help Dai Atlas, Ratchet and the others start their new life. This is not their Sanctuary, but I think they are also considering staying.”

His spark fluttered when Orion rewarded him with a small smile.

“Alright then. I also have a request for Ratchet, in fact…” Orion’s voice trailed away, his thoughts somewhere else, but in the next moment he returned to the present.  And his optics were very, very bright.

“And I have a request for you too.”

Megatron didn’t interrupt him, waiting. Orion made a long ex-vent, then stepped close to him and put his hands on Megatron’s chest.

“I want to interface. With you. Fully, spike-to-valve.” His fingers curled, tugging at the seams of the grey armor. “I don’t know what will wait for us on our way, but I want to face it without regrets. I think I love you, Megatron of Tarn. Like in those old plays.”

For one second Megatron felt like somebody punched him in the gut. But after that there came a wave of warmth, so huge and powerful that he was left helpless before it. And somewhere in his stomach a flame was starting, fierce and threatening to turn into a wildfire.

“I am not a hero from old plays,” he managed to utter, not recognizing his own voice. “I am a gladiator, a raider and an Imperator. But I think… If that love from the old tales still exists in our world, I think I love you too, Orion Pax.” He covered Orion’s hands with his own clawed palms and leaned down, until there was barely an inch between their faces. “And I will be honored to interface with you. Fully,” he added, showing his fangs in a toothy grin.

Orion didn’t falter; instead he just brought their faces closer and kissed Megatron with a hunger one might not expect from a quiet scribe. But Megatron knew better, and he kissed back with just as much vigor. Orion grabbed the sides of his helm, pulling him closer, and Megatron chuckled into the kiss, briefly wondering what Ratchet would think if he saw Orion like this.

But Ratchet would never see him like this, Megatron thought, pressing his frame into Orion’s and leading him to the berth. Nobody will ever see Orion like this! He belonged to Megatron, and only to Megatron, this passionate, sly little thing.

_Stay here,_ a voice whispered in his head. _Start a tribe. Make him carry; he won’t go anywhere if he carries._

Another, different part of Megatron protested; this was a betrayal, deception! But Orion was already spreading his legs before him, inviting and ready, the interface panel that Megatron fixed with his own hands sliding back, and Megatron caught a glimpse of a valve, illuminated by blue biolights.

His, Orion was going to be his, Orion wanted it! And Megatron was going to make him enjoy it, to make him want this again and again.

He wasn’t a master of bringing pleasure – the rushed, impersonal frags he allowed himself with his soldiers were always short and rough – but there were things that any mech with a head screwed right would understand. Like the fact that you don’t just shove a spike into a small, virgin valve unless you intend to cause pain. And so Megatron was patient, touching and stroking that valve with his fingers, careful about his deadly claws, as he continued kissing Orion, swallowing his moans.

Orion still tensed when the spike’s head pressed into his opening, still broke the kiss and gasped, pushing at Megatron’s chest with his hands – but the moment Megatron stopped, Orion arched against him.

“No!” he breathed out. “Don’t stop! I need…”

And Megatron gave him what he needed, slowly entering the tight valve, sensing each single caliper dilate and open for him.

“Hurts?” he grunted (for now he wasn’t capable of anything more eloquent).

Orion shook his head, even as his mouth twisted.

“No… Yes! A little… Please don’t stop!”

He was clinging to Megatron like a drowning mech, and Megatron thought he understood it, understood this need to push through, to make this union happen. And with this understanding came determination; Megatron knew what he had to do.

So he fragged Orion as Orion wanted it, heavy and slow and forceful, making the berth rattle underneath them, until Orion was screaming and writhing, and then finally Megatron spilled into him. But the determination never left, and Megatron didn’t feel fulfilled.

This will not be a deception. He will not use Orion’s desire as a chain to bind him.

“We’re not done,” he muttered, pulling out of Orion and propping himself on his hands. “If I get to have you, I want you to have me too.”

Orion made some indistinct sound.

“Megatron! It’s not a barter. You mustn’t…”

“But I want,” Megatron cut him off. The loud _snick_ of his panel opening sounded too loud in the sudden quietness of the room.

His valve was much larger, especially when compared to Orion’s taut little spike, so Megatron positioned himself and planned to sink right onto it, but got stopped by Orion grasping his hips.

“No,” Orion was staring at him with the same determination. “It’s my turn.”

Megatron let Orion maneuver him on his back, but what he didn’t expect was for Orion to slide down his body and settle with his face nearly buried into his valve – and he almost yelped when Orion’s lips descended upon him.

This was… Something else. This was something he had never imagined, never saw his fellow raiders do. It should have made him feel vulnerable, but instead made him feel… treasured. Like he was falling apart in the best possible way. Who in their sane mind would do this to Imperator Megatronus? And yet here was Orion, treating him with utter gentleness, kissing and licking his valve without shame.

_“Am I letting him bind me instead?”_ he wondered briefly as Orion finally raised his head from his valve and moved into position. _“Am I the one who is deceived?”_ But then Orion entered him, and nothing mattered anymore. His spike slid into the swollen, ready valve like a blade into its sheath.

And Megatron welcomed it.

***

Tarn woke up to a familiar ceiling – one that he saw many times after operations: Pharma’s medbay. But when he tried to move, with a short surge of panic he realized that he couldn’t. He was shackled! Shackled to the slab! Why would…

“So, this new gift of his lies in his vocalizer?”

Tarn froze at the sound of this voice – one that he revered the most, the voice of his master. He jerked his head, trying to see Zeta, but the Prime must have stood behind the slab. Tarn tried to address him, ask what was happening, but his internal commands reached an empty spot: his vocalizer was offline. Completely.

The Prime ignored Tarn’s frantic attempts to attract his attention.

“Yes, my lord.” This voice Tarn also knew, and then Pharma stepped into his line of sight. “It appears that something changed it, although I will need time to study it if you wish to replicate it.”

“No. It must not be replicated.” Tarn shuddered at how cold his beloved master’s voice was. “Cut his vocalizer out; you will install it in me. Do what you wish with the rest, I have no need for this failure. Do this, Pharma – and you will get your post back. All will be forgiven.”

“Yes, my lord,” the medic crooned, bowing deeply as Zeta left the medibay, his heavy steps making the slab quiver. All Tarn saw of the Prime was his back.

The world blurred around Tarn; if he could make any sounds he would howl, but for now he could only lie on his back, deaf and blinded with grief, until Pharma’s face appeared above him again.

“Well, I hope you are happy with your return to your darling Zeta, Tarn. Who could’ve guessed he would turn his back on you the moment he thought you were dangerous?” He spoke in a sing-song tone, but there was no mirth behind his smile. “Oh, by the Pits, are you crying? You are crying! If only your troops could see you now!” Pharma cackled. “That was a stupid move, coming to Zeta with such power in your hands. No idea what changed your vocalizer, but it is a marvelous weapon! And you know what? I’d be happy to cut you open and leave you to die, you stupid piece of scrap!”

Pharma practically spat those last words in Tarn’s face, leaning over his slab. His blue optics glowed almost white.

“Do you know what your precious Zeta did to me? Do you?! He sent me to the breeding court! To carry his soldiers’ spawn like some _lowlife_!” Pharma stepped back, gesturing to his belly – which was rounded slightly, once tight plates dilated. “I was shackled there on my knees and bred by your raiders, and oh how gleeful they were to finally get to me!” Pharma was seething now. “All because I was blackmailed and had to hide that damned tryst you insisted on, while you were running errands for your dearest Prime. See the pattern here, Tarn? _It is all your fault!_ ”

Tarn blinked with his only remaining optic, trying to restore his vision to clarity, but there was nothing he could do about the ache in his spark. His spark was thrashing around in his chest, hurting, bleeding.

“And now Zeta graciously offers me freedom again. I can go back to being his medic, if I give him your magic voice. Such kindness!” Pharma hissed. “Like he would find any other medic like me; like I have to _buy_ my freedom and comfort! Although he also offered me a way to get even with you.” Pharma twirled a scalpel in his fingers. “You always wanted to die for your precious Prime, Tarn. I hope you are happy that you finally got the chance.”

***

Tarn drifted in and out of stasis for a while, his fuel levels too low. Sometimes he heard Pharma walk around or mumble something as he tinkered with his tools; sometimes he saw Pharma work on his throat. Tarn didn’t care; he felt numb, empty. Grief gave place to rage every time his gaze fell on the curve of Pharma’s belly. This was his, his! He used to fantasize about Pharma carrying his offspring when he fondled the medic in their secret place in the dark bowels of the Citadel, but he could never go through with it. And now Pharma – his Pharma – was carrying someone else’s offspring! Claimed! Stolen from him!

This rage helped somewhat. At least it wasn’t that dead, all-consuming void that was left in him by Zeta Prime. At least it didn’t make him feel miserable and useless.

Anything was better than that.

But one night Tarn woke up to Pharma’s face uncomfortably close to his. The medic was lying on top of him, eerily calm; Tarn fought off the urge to shiver under this scrutiny.

“You know,” Pharma whispered, his voice intimate, like it was once, when they were lying together after an overload, “I sometimes think that those two slaggers, Megatronus and Orion, had the right idea. So I can give Zeta your magic voice, and what then? He could still throw me back into the breeding court. And you – you have nothing to lose anymore, don’t you?” A delicate finger slid along the edge of Tarn’s half-melted mask. “I can repair you… And activate your vocalizer. And then we will take some fuel and leave this place – forever. Your voice is powerful enough to clear our way and get yourself a band of your own. I will be your personal medic, and we will be able to frag whenever we want. Maybe I’ll even let you put your spawn in me.” Pharma tilted his head, stroking Tarn’s damaged face. “I like how you look,” he murmured. “The scars make you handsome. I repaired your optic, though; consider it a gift. So, what do you say to my offer?”

Tarn couldn’t say anything with his vocalizer offline. So instead, he just nodded.

He had nothing left in his life to lose.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am slow, but I am writing it! By the way, there are only several chapters left, so we're moving close to the end.

When Orion said he had some project with Ratchet that would take time, Megatron paid it no mind. They’ve been living in the fortress for a month now, and each of them found himself neck deep in numerous tasks like repairing the facilities, teaching all willing bots how to read and bumping heads with Dai Atlas. In fact, some part of Megatron even rejoiced at Orion’s request: every long project cemented their intention to stay here for a while. Orion and Ratchet probably planned something to enhance the medibay, or create a real “school” – something the Sanctuary survivors kept referring to.

Or maybe, just maybe, Megatron and Orion’s vigorous interfacing was fruitful, and…

Megatron stopped himself before he went too far down this track of thought. That idea was too tempting, too dangerous. This was not the right time for that, they needed to make the fortress safe first, to help the sparklings that were already born here, to improve the mining conditions…

There was so much to do, but Megatron took up every task with enthusiasm. It meant they were here to stay, and it was nice to have a home.

So when after two days of absence Orion appeared in his doorway, Megatron’s jaw dropped.

The mech who stood before him had Orion’s face, colors and general shape. But he was taller, almost as tall as Megatron now; his arms and chest were broader, his legs longer and more powerful. While the scribe’s frame was made for efficiency and compactness, this one was made for strength.

“What in the world… Orion?!” Megatron couldn’t stop staring. But then the familiar sheepish expression appeared on the mech’s features, and he laughed with Orion’s voice.

“You should’ve seen your face.” He walked closed, the floor resonating with his heavy steps. “Do you… like it?”

“It certainly looks impressive. Is it a suit of armor, like Sentinel’s? Or a reformatting?”

“No, not a suit. It’s a full body reformatting.” Orion shuffled his foot. “I asked Ratchet if he could do it… And he did.”

“Why? Was there something wrong with your frame?” Megatron stood up, walking around Orion to take a better look.

“No, no, it’s not that. I just…” Orion sighed. “It’s always you fighting for me. You came to this fortress to rescue me, battled on the arena, and I was dangling in Sentinel’s grip like a piece of junk.” Orion raised his hand to touch his throat. “I don’t want to be helpless anymore. I will learn to fight, and this frame is more fit for it than a small scribe.”

Megatron stopped his prowl and sat down on a chair next to Orion.

“I though you didn’t like killing.” He had to try hard to catch Orion’s gaze.

“I don’t,” Orion said quietly. “And I will do my best to avoid it, if possible. But I refuse to be a burden. I want to help and protect others, not stay behind while you do. The people of the Sanctuary were civilians, but they took arms and fought when they were attacked; I can do it too. If you learned to read, I can learn to fight.” This time he didn’t try to avoid Megatron’s optics and peered right into them, challenging the grey mech to object.

Megatron wasn’t going to object. A smile was tugging at his lips, but then Orion continued:

“And I know that we will have to fight when we resume our journey.” He reached into his subspace and took out the Key. “It points south, directly to Kaon. I spoke to Sideswipe, and he said Kaon is overrun by the Insecticon Swarm, and that nobody dares to venture there. If we head to Kaon…”

Megatron didn’t listen; he was fighting the desire to smash the table against the wall. Just when he thought Orion forgot about that slagging quest, just when he truly started to dream of a home and a tribe...

“Megatron?” Orion stopped talking, those blasted blue optics shimmering with concern. “What is wrong?”

A low growl escaped Megatron’s throat.

“Everything,” he snapped. “Everything is wrong! We have a place to stay, people who need us, allies, we finally started to make at least one piece of the world better – and you want to leave! To leave it all and chase after a legend that might not even be true! What is wrong with you?!”

“Wrong..?” Orion’s optics widened, and he slowly stood up. His new height and bulk seemed menacing for a moment, but then he took a step back – in the same old manner of Orion the scribe. Megatron’s battle protocols flared, triumphant. This was a weak opponent, easy to intimidate, he can be dealt with quickly!

This thought made Megatron stop an advance he didn’t realize he was making. His fists were clenched tight, armor bristled, cannon humming to life. He straightened his back and closed his optics, ordering himself to calm down. Which was hard with Orion talking again.

“This was our plan all along, Megatronus.” The old name scraped against his spark. “We set out to find Vector Sigma, didn’t we? You agreed with it back then. What changed?”

Megatron opened his optics, and saw Orion before him: the same soft-spoken but stubborn scribe that argued with him all the way.

Anger faded, and pain came in its place. Megatron almost missed anger.

“I met you,” he said, his own voice sounding hollow. “I love you. And I don’t want to see you torn apart by some Insecticon.”

 _Let me have this,_ something cried in his mind. _I’ve never had this, never thought I’d be able to feel this way, to be happy. Don’t take this away from me._

Orion appeared like he was struck.

“Oh…” He lowered his gaze. “Oh, Megatron.” And then he moved closer and wrapped his arms around Megatron’s frame, pulling him into an embrace.

“I don’t want to lose you too,” he whispered somewhere into Megatron’s neck. “I’m so happy, and it scares me so much! I almost wish I wasn’t that happy.” He chuckled, but it came out choked. “I just… know that this is bigger than my happiness. More important than that. We have a chance to save the entire planet, to make life better for everyone. And I can’t stay happy if I know I didn’t do my best.” He pulled away and looked into Megatron’s face. “Do you… understand?”

Megatron was silent for almost a klik, battling with himself. It felt like some iron coil was tightened around his throat, forcing all words down. But finally he managed:

“I do.” He sighed heavily, avoiding Orion’s gaze. “I do. And I hate it.” He let go of Orion and turned away. “Go; I bet others want to see your new frame too.” He almost managed to make his voice sound normal.

For a moment there was stillness, with Megatron silently praying for Orion to comply. And finally he heard steps, then a gentle:

“I’m sorry.”

And the sound of a closing door.

***

Everyone was shocked by the news of Megatron and Orion leaving soon.

“But why? You’ve just won over this place!” Arcee’s mournful cry was interrupted by Sunstreaker’s outburst:

“You can’t leave! Everything will fall apart if you do!” The yellow mech actually looked furious. “With nobody to lead this fortress is doomed!”

“I’m sure you will be able to choose a suitable leader,” Orion started. “Dai Atlas, for example…”

“Dai Atlas?! A mech who was defeated by Sentinel and sent to the mines like a slave?!” Dai Atlas (who was present) frowned at this, but Sunstreaker didn’t even notice. “Nobody will ever respect a loser! You challenged the Prime, Lord Megatron, and only you should rule us!”

“You ought to know, child, that leading is the job of the wise.” Dai Atlas crossed his arms. “Strength is…”

“Blah-blah, go tell it to Sentinel.” Sunstreaker was still only looking at Megatron, bouncing on his newly built legs. “If you leave, who will protect them?” He pointed at Arcee, Bumblebee and Bulkhead. “Who will protect Ratchet? Sure, I will, but I’m just one mech!”

Sideswipe coughed loudly.

“Okay, we’re two mech, but still! I believed you!” Sunstreaker extended an accusing finger in Orion’s direction. “I agreed to go against the Prime to help you because you promised Megatron will be a kinder lord. And now you leave?!”

“I don’t agree with the kid’s arguments, but I share his sentiments.” Ratchet’s face was dark. “Why leave? Together we can keep this place going. I won’t be able to treat my patients if another tyrant replaces that Sentinel.”

Megatron stayed quiet the entire time, then just raised an eyebrow at Orion and made an inviting gesture. He wasn’t going to offer any help here. Orion cast a short glare at him, but the turned his attention back to his audience.

“I’m going to show you something,” he said, stepping forward. Orion pulled a small object from his subspace and then raised his hand with the Key to Vector Sigma, aiming it south. Soft blue glow radiated from the Key, illuminating the faces of all mechs present.

And then with a loud clang Dai Atlas fell on one knee.

“By Primus!” he gasped. “The Key to Vector Sigma!”

Everybody else exchanged confused glances, except for Ratchet, who followed Dai Atlas’s example, gawking at the Key.

“This,” Orion said softly, “is the hope for Cybertron’s revival. I read in the old books that it shows the way to Cybertron’s living core, and that it can access and activate it. Long ago our planet was full of life, and what is now wasteland used to be lush crystal forests and alloy fields. Energon used to be farmed, not mined. I believe that this Key might bring that all back. This is what our journey is about,” he glanced back at Megatron. “We are looking for Vector Sigma.”

“By Primus,” Dai Atlas repeated in the midst of the awed silence. “You are right! That might be our chance! Can I touch it?”

Orion hesitated for a moment, but nodded, offering the chain to the kneeling mech. Dai Atlas took the Key with reverence – and as soon as Orion let go of it, the blue glow disappeared.

Megatron couldn’t hold back a smug smirk, feeling a little consoled. So the high and mighty Dai Atlas wasn’t any better than Megatron himself: the Key only reacted to Orion.

Dai Atlas noticed it too – but he wasn’t disappointed. Instead, he bowed deeply, and as he handed the Key back to Orion, his hands were shaking.

“The true Prime,” he proclaimed. “I’ve never thought the day would come when a true Prime will grace Cybertron, let alone honor me with his acquaintance. Please accept my deepest apologies for my arrogance, my Prime.”

Now that caused an uproar.

“What?!”

“Prime?”

“What do you mean, ‘true Prime’?”

“Is this a joke?”

Megatron wanted to join the indignant chorus, but it was Orion who seemed to be disturbed the most.

“Please, Dai Atlas.” He put the Key around his neck and tried to pull the larger mech up. “I am no Prime, I would never call myself one! This is a false title, and you shouldn’t call me that.”

“You are humble.” Dai Atlas raised his head, but refused to stand up. “Perhaps you don’t understand. These tyrants like Sentinel, they just use this title to get more power, but you – you are the true Prime! The heir to the Thirteen, the chosen of Primus! It is said that only a Prime can use the Key to Vector Sigma, and only to a Prime will it show a secret path.”

“You told us before that your mentor’s name was Alpha Trion.” Ratchet hadn’t said anything since he fell on one knee behind Dai Atlas, and now his face seemed younger, lit by some inner light. “I was rude to you, and I cannot be sorry enough; your mentor was probably the real Alpha Trion! One of the Thirteen!”

Everyone appeared enraptured with this fable, and Megatron could see that Orion was growing more and more uncomfortable.

“Yeah, and next you will say I am the real Megatronus the Fallen,” he said loudly, crossing his arms. It seemed to break the spell for some – but Sideswipe and Sunstreaker stared at him with new optics, and Megatron wanted to smack them all. “Come on, Orion, put this thing away, it seems to fry their brain modules. None of you actually knows why it glows! So stop explaining it by turning ordinary mechs into gods.”

“Thank you,” Orion murmured. “And really, Dai Atlas, Ratchet. I’m not a Prime, and definitely not some godlike being. I am a scribe from Iacon, and my mentor…” His voice broke for a second. “My mentor is dead. He died like any other mech would, killed by raiders. If he were some ancient demigod, he would’ve saved himself.” His finger clasped around the Key. “But the Key shows the way, and we must follow it, if there is the slightest hope to save Cybertron.”

“Then you must follow it,” Dai Atlas said. “And we will help you in any way we can.”

***

The day of departure was a sad day – even for Megatron. No matter how much he wanted to keep an aloof façade, he had to admit that he got attached to the people he got to know lately. In a way, he truly started thinking of them as his tribe: Ratchet the grouchy old medic, three curious sparklings that needed training and guidance, and two young warriors - Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Dai Atlas was the only one whom Megatron wasn’t going to miss.

They all suggested to come with them, younger bots being the most insistent, but Megatron firmly refused.

“If we’re going to Kaon, two mechs will have more luck trying to sneak past the Insecticons than a whole party.”

“It’s better if you stay and try to keep this fortress a good place to live,” Orion added. “Sideswipe, you’re the champion of the arena. People will listen to you.”

Unfortunately, the crawler was scrap after Megatron rammed it into the gate. If it could be repaired, it certainly would need a lot of time. But the fuel pod they took from Zeta’s Citadel in the very beginning of their quest was still intact, and Orion’s new frame allowed him to haul it with ease.

The people of the fortress weren’t joyful as well. Most were openly mourning the departure of their Lord Megatron, and some were gathering in small groups, whispering and checking their weapons.

“There will most likely be a takeover attempt, or even more of those,” Megatron warned the others. “It might be better if I publically name an heir who can present a unifying point. And I believe it should be you, Sideswipe. The locals know and respect you, and you have proven your battle prowess.”

“And you have a brother to watch your back,” Orion added.

If Dai Atlas had something to say about it, he didn’t. Maybe his belief that Orion was a Prime had its uses.

They also decided to leave Sentinel’s great armor. It was too heavy, and didn’t allow the wearer to transform.

“It’s called Apex Armor,” Orion told Sideswipe as he handed the young mech an old, scuffed datapad. “Here is the instruction how to use it. It was in Sentinel’s treasure chest, and he was looking for it desperately. He couldn’t read, so he had to rely on me. But you don’t need a scribe anymore.” He winked. “Now you will be able to read it and learn about the armor’s full capabilities. Just remember to use it better than its previous owner.”

“I will, Orion Pax. I promise!” Sideswipe pressed the datapad to his chest.

And so in the early morning they opened the gate of the fortress, the fuel pod refilled and ready for the road.

“Goodbye, Orion.” Ratchet hugged Orion tight, for once not afraid to openly show affection. The old mech looked quite bad, his optics flickering and vents screeching. “Good luck and… return to us. How would we know Cybertron is saved if you don’t tell us, heh?”

Orion smiled and hugged him back, but said nothing.

Then Ratchet turned to Megatron.

“Alright, kids, get off him, let me through.” He shooed away Arcee, Bulkhead and Bumblebee, who latched themselves to Megatron and refused to let go, and looked up at him.

“And you…” He poked Megatron’s fully healed side, where the patch used to be. “You keep yourself safe, you stubborn, hot-headed fool!” For a moment it seemed like he was ready to hug Megatron as well, but instead Ratchet just patted his arm. “Try to come back to us in one piece, will you?” 

Then he promptly turned around and stomped away.

Megatron met Orion’s warm gaze.

“Let’s go then,” he said simply. They transformed and left the fortress just the way they once left the Citadel: just the two of them and the fuel pod rolling behind Orion.

***

The three foreign mechs were brought before Zeta Prime the moment the news about them reached his audials. They indeed looked like they had a long way behind them: dirty, dusty, covered in acid burns and lacking some limbs. One could mistake them for mechs from the crowd of the Useless, who were surviving on scraps outside of the Citadel’s walls, if not for their strangely colored optics: two pairs of red and one of green.

“So you say you come from the south? From the land of… another Prime?” Those who knew Zeta well remembered how deceptive that soft, benevolent tone could be.

“Yes, oh Lord Prime.” At least the newcomers understood how to address a Prime, kneeling and bowing deeply. “But the tragedy befell our home: a foreign mech came to our fortress and slayed Sentinel Prime, speaking blasphemies. But he also spoke of your lands far to the north, and we escaped our tainted fortress, looking for a god’s guidance. We humbly beg you to take us under your wing.”

Although the last words pleased Zeta, his optics remained narrowed.

“A foreign mech, you say?”

“Yes, oh Lord Prime! He called himself Megatron, and he renounced the Primes’ holy power. He came for a prisoner Lord Sentinel caught recently, a scribe. Megatron challenged Lord Prime and used some witchcraft to defeat him, and…”

“Megatronus!” The poor mech choked on his words when Zeta stood up from his throne, growling. “That traitor is alive?! You! Answer me!”

“Y-yes, Lord Prime.” The mech prostrated himself, pressing his forehead to the floor. “He rules our fortress now, with the scribe by his side. We couldn’t accept it, so we left…. We hoped that you…”

“That scribe,” Zeta growled, “is my property. As was my Second Imperator and my medic!”

The servants who usually stood behind the throne pressed their backs into the wall, trying to hide in the shadows as much as possible. Ever since Pharma vanished along with Tarn, leaving behind a trail of bodies with exploded sparks, Zeta’s temper had become shorter than ever. Mentioning Megatronus or Orion in front of him was not a smart idea.

Suddenly Zeta straightened his back, and his tone regained its mirth.

“Rise, my children,” he said to the foreigners. “You came a long way, and your devotion to the Primacy will not be forgotten. I shall call upon my army, and we will go to the south to free your fortress from the heretic’s rule – and you will serve as my guides.”

Not listening to the frantic expressions of gratitude from the newcomers, Zeta turned to his recently appointed First Imperator.

“Rally the troops and make the engine crew prepare the smelters. The Citadel itself will go to war, and for this we will need fuel. Time for the Useless ones to finally be of use.”

“Right away, my lord!” The Imperator paused, but curiosity won over caution. “My lord? What do you mean that Citadel itself will go to war?”

Zeta’s engine purred.

“You will see, my child. The unfaithful shall be reminded what power of a Prime really means.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second to last chapter! I can't believe we're here.

It felt strange, almost nostalgic – flying over the desert with Orion driving below, a fuel pod trailing behind him. Just like at the beginning of their journey. Only now Orion’s altmode was a sturdy, heavy-duty truck, and Megatron bore a new name.

But it was the two of them again, fresh desert wind blowing in their windshields, the entire world laid out before them. This was an illusion of freedom, Megatron knew that – and yet he couldn’t stop himself from enjoying it, if just a little. His joy transformed into rhythm, singing in unison with his sparkbeat, and the wind’s howling served as a background melody. It pumped in Megatron’s head, in the flow of energon in his veins, and words were falling in lines along with it.

The words were bubbling in Megatron’s chest when he landed for a break, but he kept them to himself for now. They still felt too clumsy, not good enough to present them to Orion… Yes, Megatron wanted to present them to Orion. Later, when he would make sense of them. Orion loved poetry, but how sad was it, to scavenge for poems long lost? Megatron would create new ones for him. Create new, better things on the ruins of the past – wasn’t this enough of a purpose? Wasn’t this worth living for?

Megatron suppressed the rising ire, forcing the thoughts of Vector Sigma out of his mind. Fine, he could humor Orion. He’d get him to Kaon, they will try this Key to Vector Sigma thing, and if (when) it doesn’t work, they’ll go back. The Insecticon Swarm is dangerous, but they went through worse and survived. They’d be fine.

“So,” Orion put the fuel hose back to its compartment under the tank and turned to Megatron. “Time for our lesson?” He balled his hands into fists and took the battle stance. Which was quite good already, and Orion only started learning to fight in the Fortress, after his upgrade. Their training sessions left scuffs and dents on Orion’s thick new armor, scratches on his face and knuckles – and yet Orion’s optics were twinkling, a slight smile playing on his lips.

Megatron smiled in return and took a similar stance.

They would both be fine.

***

The first sign that they were approaching the lands of Kaon was a scattered pile of broken armor plates and gears, lying around with no order or meaning. The surface has been slowly changing from sand to bare rock and metal for the last few days, so even though the parts were clearly old, they were still on display. Orion and Megatron stopped and transformed to their root modes to get a closer look, and that look did little to ease Orion’s mind.

“Are those… bite marks?” Orion traced the deep gauges. The teeth that left them must’ve been three times longer and sharper than Megatron’s fangs.

“Yes.” Megatron flexed his claws. “It’s the Insecticons.”

“But why did they leave the armor and took the carcasses?” Raiders usually did the opposite, stripping the bodies of parts and leaving the skeletons behind.

“The Insecticons’ systems can digest your protoform’s metal.” Megatron shuddered. “They can literally eat you alive. I heard they use processed protometal to build their hives, but nobody has ever ventured into the hive and come back to tell the tale. I guess we’ll be the first.” He let out a stiff chuckle.

Orion cast a glance to the south, suddenly feeling very exposed here on the plains. Somewhere there, in the ruins of ancient Kaon, the Insecticon Swarm was waiting for them.

The idea of turning back and driving to the safety of the fortress became all too tempting.

No. He couldn’t let fear stop him. He didn’t let love stop him… And something as selfish as fear couldn’t be more powerful.

“You fought Insecticons in the arena, didn’t you?” Orion heard himself say. His voice sounded squeaky. “Can you teach me what I need to know to fight them?”

“Yes.” Megatron finally tore his gaze off the remains. “Just let’s move to another place.”

***

Orion stretched on the ground, facing the starry sky above. It was different here, in the southern hemisphere of Cybertron, and Orion briefly wished he could draw a map or at least note down the brightest constellations. He didn’t remember what they were called in the old books, but maybe he could come up with new names. Anything to keep his mind busy, to keep it off their nearing goal…

Orion shuddered, and then winced as the sudden movement resonated with dull ache in his joints. They’ve been spending more time training lately, or simply taking breaks – never openly talking about this mutual hesitation, and yet understanding it perfectly.

But in the end, no matter how slow they went, they’d have to enter Kaon. To face the Swarm. Orion had been checking the Key more often lately, secretly hoping that it would point to a road that led around Kaon, maybe to some little cave at its outskirts… But so far the path remained straight, leading them right to the heart of the city. To the most certain death.

“Orion?” Apparently, Megatron wasn’t recharging either. “What’s wrong?”

Orion shut his optics for a moment, fighting with the lump in his throat, then rolled over and sat up, straddling Megatron’s hips.

“Nothing.” He smiled, hoping that it showed warmth rather than despair. “How about a ‘face? I’m in the mood.”

“Oh, Orion,” Megatron’s smile _definitely_ radiated nothing but warmth, “with you, I’m always in the mood.” His heavy clawed hands lay on Orion’s waist, pressing him closer. Orion rolled his hips in response and shivered at the first jolt of pleasure. Pale starlight gleamed on Megatron’s armor, painting it silver – alive, not deathly grey.

“When we come back,” Megatron breathed out, grinding his panel against Orion’s and sending another delightful jolt through his systems, “I shall frag you until we both short-circuit. And then,” another thrust, “we will make our tribe the strongest and most prosperous on Cybertron. No more magic. No more ancient Primes.” Their interface panels snapped open. “Just you and me and the world around us.” 

And Orion bit his lip not to sob loudly as he impaled himself, Megatron’s indisputable “when” piercing him straight to his spark.

***

Sunstreaker drove through the night desert, his wide, scout-class tires leaving almost no tracks on the sand. It still felt like a miracle, him driving again after the years of living as a mangled wreck. Ratchet just… _built_ new legs for him! Like it was something normal!

What constituted an even bigger miracle was persuading Sideswipe to let him go on patrol alone. Sideswipe was hovering over him like some helicopter, and Sunstreaker was sick of it. Hi brother was still treating him like a helpless cripple!

No matter. Sunstreaker had his wheels, and once again he was an uncatchable scout, faster than a desert storm. Under the moonlight all colors turned to shades of grey and silver, and his sleek form blended with the dunes.

A movement on the horizon made him stop dead in his tracks. It took him a klik to figure out what caught his attention; something was off about the landscape, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what – until it dawned upon him.

One of the hills was growing bigger.

Sunstreaker had to reset his optic sensors, but it was no mirage: the hill far to the north was growing, its dark form blocking the stars. It was swaying as it rose against the night sky, a movement that strangely reminded Sunstreaker of his own waddling when he had to walk on his stubs. And around this hill clouds were rising – dust and sand bursting from beneath its… feet?

With a screech of the engine Sunstreaker turned around and hurried back to the fortress.

***

Ratchet woke up because somebody simply plucked him off the berth.

“Wh-Wha?! Sideswipe! What in Primus’s name!” He stumbled, trying to keep his balance and wrestle himself from Sideswipe’s grip as the young mech pulled him to the exit of his room. Ratchet spotted Arcee, Bulkhead and Bumblebee there in the hallway, just as confused and shuffling behind Sunstreaker.

“No time, old mech.” Sideswipe dragged him down the stairs, Sunstreaker and the kids in tow. They crossed the fortress’s yard, heading right to the crawler that the locals recently finished repairing. The gates of the fortress were open, and bots were scurrying around, shouting, waving weapons.

“What’s going on?! Unhand me at once!” Ratchet finally managed to free himself and stopped. “Answer me!”

It was Sunstreaker who replied instead.

“In fifteen kliks or so we’ll be under attack. We don’t know what it is, but it’s huge, almost like this fortress.” It took one look at Sunstreaker’s face to stop the angry tirade before it left Ratchet’s vocalizer. “You are leaving, along with our weak and wounded.” Ratchet glanced at the crawler – and indeed, there were mechs climbing into its cargo hold: his patients from the medbay, sparklings, gravid carriers… Several warriors were beating up healthy mechs who tried to sneak on board, berating them for cowardice, but Ratchet already saw some other bots running through the gate and transforming in hope to escape.

Ratchet opened his mouth to say he’s staying, but once again didn’t get the chance.

“Leave.” Sideswipe was already pushing Arcee, Bulkhead and Bumblebee towards the cabin. “You know how to drive this thing. Take it away, your kids will protect you. Escape, find Megatron and Orion, I don’t care what you do – just don’t die!”

On numb feet Ratchet climbed into the cabin and allowed Sunstreaker to shut the door. Arcee was starting the crawler’s engine, as more mechs were trying to climb it to hitch a ride. The guards’ yells and cries of scared sparklings rang in Ratchet’s audials, but he just sat there – sat there as the crawler slowly moved through the gate and started gaining speed.

When Ratchet looked back, the fortress was turning into a dark, ugly shape littered with torchlights. And behind it another shape was moving. Perhaps it was the madness of this night playing tricks with Ratchet’s mind – but it reminded him of a giant beast with a heavy tail.

***

Zeta didn’t wait for the last resistance to be crushed: he left the safety of his Citadel’s command post and joined the fight. It was time to finally punish the traitors – and show these heathens the power of a true Prime.

But no matter where he looked, there was no trace of his treacherous Imperator.

“Megatronus!” Zeta roared, raising his cannon. “Come face me, Megatronus! I will tear you apart!”

“The one you call Megatronus is not here.”

Zeta turned to face the owner of the voice – and even he could admit that the mech looked impressive. In the middle of the mayhem, among the laser shots and screams of dying, he stood straight and calm like a mountain – a tall warrior with plating of blue and gold, a longsword in his hand.

“Megatronus spoke of you, false Prime,” the mech said. “And this fortress does not bow to false Primes anymore.”

“How dare you.” Zeta’s optics narrowed. “Do you not see? I awakened the mighty titan! He is mine to command!”

“You did wake up Trypticon, it seems – but Trypticon is no titan. He is but a beast of ancient world.” The mech didn’t falter under Zeta’s glare. “This place is under my protection, and I, Dai Atlas, challenge you…”

“I do not care for your blabbering, heathen.” Zeta aimed his canon at the mech. “Tell me where the traitor Megatronus is – and where he hides Orion Pax.”

“I told you, he is not here. Megatronus and Orion Pax left this fortress days ago.” Dai Atlas raised his sword. “Now, prepare for battle.”

But Zeta didn’t listen to him anymore. As soon as Dai Atlas said what Zeta needed to hear, he vanished from the Prime’s mind. Zeta turned around and shot into the air, calling his troops.

“He is not here!” He growled. “My warriors, back to the Citadel!” He caught one of his officers by the shoulder. “You. Get somebody who knows in which direction Megatronus went. We’re leaving!”

And just as quickly as they fell on the unsuspecting fortress, they were gone.

***

Orion took it for a mountain ridge first, so it was Megatron’s voice that brought the ominous news.

“There they are!” he proclaimed, diving from the height and flying over Orion. “The towers of Kaon!”

They must’ve been higher before, those mighty towers rising on the horizon, but now they resembled jagged fangs more than proud spires. Some still had the remnants of balconies crowning them, barely visible from the distance, and although their architecture was different, for a moment Orion thought of Iacon and its collapsed domes. From North Pole to South Pole, the same desolation reigned everywhere.

So focused they were on the danger looming ahead, that they didn’t notice the one lurking behind. In fact, it was Orion who spotted it first – the weird shaking of the ground beneath his wheels.

“Megatron?” he called. “Do you hear this? What it this vibration?”

Megatron turned up, gaining altitude to see – and dove right back down, shouting:

“ _DRIVE!”_

Orion went into overdrive without even thinking. His engine roared, small pebbles flew from under his wheels, and only then he asked:

“What is it? Megatron?!”

“It’s the Citadel!” By Primus, Megatron sounded _terrified_. “I don’t know how, this can’t be, but… It’s the Citadel! And it’s _moving_!”

Orion’s spark went icy cold. Citadel. How is it even possible? At a certain point he dared to make a sharp turn to look behind the trailer – and he recognized the colors and familiar structures, but it was… trotting? Citadel’s shape was different now, like a gigantic beast, and it was trotting, trotting towards them with surprising speed, gaining on them, and in front of it tiny dots were getting in formation…

“Don’t stop!” Megatron’s sharp cry lashed him like a crack of whip. “Orion, drive!”

And Orion did, the grim revelation rushing him more than Megatron’s cries. Zeta’s hunting party was behind them.

Zeta found them.

He drove with all his newfound power, his engine overheating, his wheels burning with friction, but Zeta’s army was slowly catching up. And with each minute they were getting closer and closer to Kaon, the city’s buildings now towering ahead, piercing the sky. Blue, blue sky; where is the storm when you need it?

“Megatron!” Orion barely could hear himself over the bellow of his overworked engine. “Where do we go?! The Insecticons..!” They haven’t seen a single one yet, but they were going straight into the Insecticon hive, and surely they won’t be able to sneak in as they originally planned. Orion saw the dark pods on the walls now, covering the buildings like warts of rust, and doubted they were empty. “We’ll run straight into them!”

But where else could they go? Zeta’s company was too close now, Orion could hear their hoots and threats behind. If Orion changed direction now to go around Kaon, he’d just be easier to catch…

“I have an idea!” Orion saw Megatron’s silver form fly by, getting ahead. “Keep driving, don’t stop!”

Orion watched him accelerate, making a beeline for Kaon, right to the wall littered with pods. Orion wanted to ask what Megatron had in mind, but he trusted his friend. So he just watched as the heavy jet approached the city, purple blaze from his thrusters marking his spot against the dark building.

And then Megatron fired at the pods.

He maneuvered, flying up along the wall, firing again and again, then attacking the pods on the next building, until the black smoke hid him from view… And Orion heard it: a low, threatening buzz born among the smoke, growing louder and louder, shrill, terrible howling –

And then Megatron reemerged from the flames and smoke, a swarm of huge bug-like creatures following him.

Orion even forgot about Zeta for a moment. The swarm was filling up the sky, more and more Insecticons taking flight, blocking the sunlight like a real sandstorm, and Megatron’s grey form looked so tiny in front of them…

Orion’s gawking stopped when he heard Megatron’s shouting:

“Turn back! Orion, drive back!”

Snapped out of his stupor, Orion hit the brakes with a screech and obeyed.

Now Zeta’s army was ahead of him, and he saw them stopping, some transforming to their root modes, staring into the sky with their jaws dropped. He saw the Citadel’s enormous form, now shaped like a two-legged monster with a fanged maw, slow down and hesitate. He saw Zeta among his soldiers, transforming and yelling at them, yet for the first time in his life Orion wasn’t afraid of him. The swarm’s shadow was slithering on the ground, devouring it, and Orion was at its tip, with Megatron flying overhead. The whole of Kaon was rising behind their backs – and they were leading it to battle.  

Zeta’s troops did their part of the job: they began shooting at the Insecticons. Then the heavy cannons from the Citadel – the monster that was Citadel – hummed to life. And as Orion cut through the first line of Zeta’s army, no one was interested in him anymore: the raiders clashed with the Insecticons.

Orion lost Megatron somewhere among the chaos. He swerved and veered, trying to slow down and find a way out of the war zone. Everywhere around him mechs were screaming, torn apart limb from limb, Insecticons howled and fell in piles of smoking metal as they were shot from the sky. Orion gritted his dental plates and drove, but it felt like his trailer was growing heavier with every klik – until a burst of pain make him yelp and look back.

Three or four Insecticons were clinging to his trailer, digging their sharp mandibles in the metal, and one of them was too close, threatening to bite off Orion’s smokestacks. Orion made another sudden turn, but it seemed like Insecticons had stronger grip than raiders, and the bug remained where it was, its teeth scraping over Orion’s cab.

“Orion!” Megatron reappeared above him, covered in energon and soot, and Orion had an idea.

“I’ll detach the trailer,” he shouted, “And you shoot it!”

The Insecticon was almost on him, so Orion didn’t wait for confirmation; he simply cut the hitches.

He dashed forward, his speed not limited by the heavy load anymore. He didn’t know how far he got before the volatile fuel inside the trailer exploded, but the heat hit and engulfed him, and the shockwave sent him flying.

He fell on the ground in his root mode, his head ringing, visual feed full of static. He was still fighting his disorientation when a broad hand grabbed him by his throat, lifting him in the air.

“Finally.” Zeta’s narrow blue optics peered at him from the slit of the Prime’s mask. “You cost me too much, scribe!” He shook his arm, and Orion wheezed, dangling in the iron grip. He clawed at Zeta’s fingers, but couldn’t even make them budge.

“Did you really think you could defy me? Me, a Prime?!” Zeta pulled him closer.

“Orion!” Megatron’s voice was raspy, breaking, and from the corner of his eye Orion saw his friend on the ground, still affected by the blast, still trying to get on his feet.

Zeta also honored Megatron with a side-glance.

“I’ll deal with you too, traitor.” But then Zeta turned his attention to his captive again, bringing their faces together, and Orion could _sense_ a cruel smirk underneath the Prime’s mask. “I thought better of you, scribe. You forgot your place.”

A sense of deja-vu washed over Orion. Once again a Prime was holding him in the air by his throat; once again a Prime was treating him like a trophy. But Orion made a promise to himself back then.

He wouldn’t be helpless anymore.

He grabbed at Zeta’s arm, pretending to be struggling in vain. And then, when his hands were as close to Zeta’s head as possible, Orion activated the upgrades Ratchet installed in him.

In a blink of an eye his wrists transformed. Twin blades slid out of his arms – piercing right through Zeta’s throat and into his skull.

For a moment Zeta’s optics widened, flashing bright white, and his fingers clenched on Orion’s neck. Orion’s spark throbbed in fear – did he miss? – but then the Prime’s grip loosened, his optics fading to grey. The tall figure of Zeta reeled and fell with a ground-shattering crash. Orion was dropped next to him, coughing.

“Orion!” Megatron finally managed to half-crawl, half-walk to him, astonishment clear on his face. “You… killed him?”

“I don’t know.” Orion coughed again and transformed his hands back, touching his dented neck cables. “I… I think so?” His whole body was trembling, and after the initial rush passed the world around seemed distant, unreal.

Megatron turned to the fallen Prime and took a shot from his cannon to Zeta’s head.

“Just to be sure,” he said, but the awed expression never left his face. However, it was no right time for discussions; the battle still raged around them, although mechs who saw Zeta fall stopped fighting, staring at his body in disbelief.

Insecticons didn’t care, though, and Megatron grabbed Orion’s hand.

“Let’s go!” He jumped to his feet. “Let’s get out of here!”

The raiders didn’t try to stop them; most of them stared at Zeta’s corpse in stupor, until some random Insecticons chose them as easy prey. Most of the Swarm concentrated its attacks on the target they deemed the most dangerous: the Citadel. The giant beast shook its head and roared, trying to get its smaller and dexterous opponents. Its laser fire usually burned to cinders several Insecticons at once, but this didn’t stop the hive’s protectors.

Orion and Megatron didn’t see it. They escaped the battlefield, and no raider chased them. Those few Insecticons that got interested in them were shot down by Megatron.

And they fled until finally they found cover in the deep shadows of Kaon.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is it? An April Fool's joke? No, I really managed a new chapter after 1,5 months instead of 3!   
> Anyway, here it is: the final chapter of this story. I hope you enjoy!

It was cool under the looming ruins of Kaon’s towers – a stark contrast to the scorching desert. Dark violet shadows shrouded the ancient city; the ground was hidden under a grey layer of shed Insecticon shells that crunched softly under Orion and Megatron’s feet. The sounds of battle turned to low booming in the distance.

They stopped when the rush of the recent fight subsided in their fuel lines. Megatron leaned on the cold metal wall and sighed. Orion wiped the dust off his face, feeling the tension slowly release his shoulders.

“So… it seems we made it,” he said, glancing up at his companion. Megatron’s plating was still covered in soot from the explosion of the fuel pod, and there were energon stains everywhere on his armor – Orion couldn’t tell if it was his or someone else’s.

Megatron sent him a crooked smile.

“Yeah… we did.”

He didn’t appear particularly happy about it, but Orion had no time to dwell on it, because Megatron continued:

“So, what does the Key say?”

Orion dug into his subspace and took out the precious artifact. He expected the Key to start shimmering and humming, as always – and shimmer it did. But, to Orion’s surprise, instead of the usual hum a thin ray of silver-blue light emerged from the Key, forming a thread that swiveled between the buildings, going into the heart of the city.

“Wow,” Megatron rumbled. “That is new.”

“It probably means we’re close.” Orion’s hands trembled as he waved the Key around, checking the direction. He spun around, beaming at Megatron. “We’re almost there!”

For a moment it seemed like Megatron wavered, considering whether to say something, but then he just nodded.

“Lead the way.”

***

They crept under the shadows of Kaon, wary about possible Insecticon sentinels, but for now they were lucky: it appeared that all Insecticons were distracted by the battle with Zeta’s troops. The Key led them forward, deeper and deeper into the city. Despite his hands twitching, clutched around the Key, Orion still had time and curiosity to look around, staring at the jagged remains of once proud towers. They were spiky and angular – something that, as Orion understood now, was part of the architecture as much as the result of the destructive effects of war, erosion and time. The metal they were comprised of was mostly dark blue or violet, and it glimmered softly when the Key’s silvery light reflected in the many sharp edges. Empty cocoons were littering the walls here and there, some grey and clearly abandoned, some displaying faint biolight lines.

They walked further, until the silver thread brought them to a different building: low and sturdy, its massive walls forming a circle.

Megatron stopped next to Orion, his vents hitching.

“It’s the Arena,” he whispered, awed. “I heard stories about it – the Grand Arena of Kaon!”

Orion couldn’t quite share his companion’s emotions – the idea of gladiatorial combat frightened him – but he could understand them. He squeezed Megatron’s hand, feeling the great claws wrap around his fingers in return, gently.

“It seems the Key is leading us there,” Orion said. “You will be able to see it.”

The silver thread indeed was leading them through the colossal gate. There used to be two statues on each side, representing the gladiators, most likely, judging by the remnants of shields and weapons next to them – but the statues’ upper halves have crumbled.

“It’s been abandoned ever since the Swarm took over the city.” Megatron looked about as they walked into the arena. Rows of seats were rising around them to the edge of the high walls; Orion couldn’t even imagine that many bots gathered in one place. This arena was five times bigger than the one in Sentinel’s fortress; in fact, Sentinel’s entire fortress could fit just in the combat area. One probably needed the population of several fortresses to fill all these seats.

The Key jingled in Orion’s hand, fluttering slightly. Its silvery path led to the middle of the arena…

Where it disappeared underground.

“Huh.” Megatron walked to the place where the thread ended. “I don’t get it. Should we dig here?”

Orion couldn’t answer him, for the Key started singing louder, and suddenly the floor under their feet trembled. A low rumble started deep beneath them, like a growl of some primordial beast. Megatron and Orion recoiled, stepping back – and just in time, since the arena’s floor cracked and broke right where they stood, the ravine growing wider and wider – until something emerged from it. A pyramidal, broad construction, like a cave built out of thick plates – it rose to the ground level and stopped, one of its sides sliding open with surprising smoothness. Then everything went still again.

Orion stared at the black maw of the entrance, paralyzed. The Key returned to its usual soft hum, mellow and calm. Next to him, Megatron was just as astounded.

But then another sound broke the stillness of the ancient arena – a low, distant buzz of many wings, and shrill howling. The Insecticons were coming back, doubtlessly alarmed by the commotion in the middle of their city.

Megatron was the first to react.

“Let’s go!” He activated his sword and grabbed Orion’s hand. “In there, quickly!”

And they ran again, right into the darkness of the mysterious cave.

***

Orion transformed and resorted to driving soon, his headlights illuminating the road ahead. It was a simple, undecorated passage with bare metal walls, and it went straight and down – always down, deeper into the planet’s underworld.

Megatron followed him not far behind, stopping now and then to fire his cannon. Every shot made Orion hit the gas harder in desperate hope to outrun the Insecticons. The smooth floor of the tunnel and the steep slope created the illusion of a steady road, but at the same time Orion had a strange feeling that something was changing around him – like a transformation hidden from their sight.

And maybe he was right, for suddenly a light appeared at the end of the passage – a faint blue glow, not unlike the one emanating from the Key. It grew closer and closer, and finally Orion hit the brakes and transformed, tumbling into a large spherical chamber.

He found himself on a bridge hanging over a bottomless abyss, and the bridge led to a round platform in the middle of the chamber. There, right ahead of him, a giant octagonal slab was lying on the platform – a perfect replica of the Key to Vector Sigma, just many times larger.

Megatron flew out of the tunnel after him, landing on his feet with a heavy thud.

“Is this it?” His voice was hoarse, his cannon smoking. “The Swarm is behind us, Orion. I’ll hold them off, but you gotta do this quick.”

Orion’s fingers clenched around the Key. His spark was pounding.

“I’ll try,” he said, optics glued to the stela. “I think I know what to do.”

And he did – like some outer force was guiding him. He walked to the slab, only partially aware of the howling and laser fire behind him, and placed the Key on a little slot in its middle.

The entire slab hummed – a much lower sound than the Key’s chimes, resonating within Orion’s chest. The intricate lines on the slab glowed familiar blue, and it rose to stand upright like an antique stela. The floor of the platform behind it parted, making way for something…

And nothing happened.

Something was wrong, Orion knew that immediately; something was very wrong! Panicked, he touched the stela – and froze: a flash of white light blinded him, and the world around him disappeared.

He didn’t see Megatron bring down the first Insecticon that breached the chamber, and didn’t hear Megatron call for him:

“Orion! Orion, what happened?”

When Orion didn’t respond, Megatron allowed himself a look over his shoulder. Orion stood before the stela, unmoving, with a hand on its glowing surface, optics fixed on it and blazing white. Megatron wanted to run to him, drag him away from the weird monument, shake him and ask if he’s alright…

But he couldn’t. More and more Insecticons were flying down the tunnel, and Megatron couldn’t shoot them all before they reached the chamber anymore. The only way he could help Orion was to keep the beasts away from him, with his cannon and his sword.

“Orion!” Megatron wasn’t going to stop trying to get through to him, though. “Orion! Answer me!”

“He is dead.”

“What?” Megatron even dared to look back again, so unfamiliar this voice sounded, full of pain and grief.

“Primus is dead,” Orion repeated, hand still on the stela; his optics lost that terrifying white flame, and now they were flickering with restrained weeping. “Cybertron cannot live again, because its spark is gone. We’re living on an empty shell, on a _corpse_. The energon crystals we mine are just scarps, remnants of Primus’s lifeblood. There won’t be more, because during the Great War the opposing sides tried to use Primus’s spark as an energy source for their weapons. We killed our world, Megatron!” Orion’s voice broke down, turning into a sob.

Megatron was left speechless; he had to concentrate on fighting, but Orion’s words settled at the back of his mind, filling him with dread he couldn’t fully comprehend yet.

“There must be something we can do!” He shouted, driving his sword through an Insecticon’s chest and throwing the body to the side. He peered into the tunnel – their only way back up – and saw its entire surface move, Insecticons crawling on the floor and walls, their brethren flying in the middle.

There was no way they could fight their way through this swarm. Not even if he was in his best health – and now his joints were aching from the strain, multiple minor wounds weaving a steady haze of pain. An image flashed before Megatron’s optics – him and Orion in the cabin of the crawler, talking about starting a tribe – and disappeared, pushed aside by grim determination of a gladiator.  

He couldn’t get the two of them out of here… but he could buy Orion time.

Jumping back, Megatron raised his cannon and fired a flurry of shots – but not at the Insecticons. All of them landed on the tunnel’s ceiling, right before the entrance to the chamber. At first nothing happened, so Megatron fired again, and again – until finally the ancient walls shuddered, and with a heavy groan the ceiling collapsed. Giant thick plates fell, crushing the screeching Insecticons; the bridge quaked – but held.

When the dust settled down, the entrance to the chamber was blocked.

Megatron climbed the rubble pile; there, where the collapsed ceiling of the tunnel connected to the chamber’s wall, some chunks of rock and metal were already trembling: the Insecticons were angry and determined to get to their prey. But this time the opening would be much, much smaller. Defendable.

Megatron turned around, looking at Orion and imprinting his image in his memory – shocked, covered in dust, blue optics wide and focused on him; only on him.

“You do your thing, Orion.” Megatron raised his sword. “Nothing goes past me.”

And he turned to the unsteady barricade, ready to meet his enemies.

***

Orion watched Megatron’s scarred back as the grey mech prepared for battle, a painful lump blocking his throat. He wanted to say something, but no words came to his mind. _“You do your thing, Orion.”_ What thing? What could he do? He saw it as he touched the stela; he saw Alpha Trion, and Alpha Trion showed him what happened, showed him the last agony of Primus’s life as his own children tore his spark apart to blast each other into oblivion. He showed Orion the empty husk of their planet, grey and lifeless inside and slowly dying on the surface; mines going dry, mechs devouring each other to sustain their own fading lives, all of them walking to a slow, agonizing death.

But Megatron stood there with his sword drawn, injured, exhausted – and prepared to defend Orion with his life, prepared to _die_ to let Orion save their planet… And Orion couldn’t let him down.

He looked at the stela with newfound determination, placing both hands on its elaborate surface.

There had to be something he could do. They travelled through the entire world to do this; Orion couldn’t give up. _What can I do?_ He asked, addressing the image of Alpha Trion in his head; for now it didn’t matter why it was Alpha Trion and how he could speak to his deceased mentor. _The Key answered to me; it led me here! It must mean something!_

**_It led you here because this is the fate of the Primes._** Alpha Trion’s voice was gentle, albeit sad. **_And you are the last of the Primes to grace this land, my dear. It is time for you to return to us._**

_Me? A Prime?_ It was ridiculous. But he heard sounds of battle now, Megatron fighting for both of their lives. Orion would take any chance now. _Aren’t Primes supposed to be powerful demigods? Then surely there is something I can do!_

There was a pause. And then, hesitant, as if unsure, Alpha Trion replied.

**_There might be._ **

***

His cannon was torn off his arm, severed wires sparkling and sizzling; the breach in the rubble barricade was small enough to defend with his sword alone, but the Insecticons outnumbered him too much, and he was still exhausted and wounded after the battle with Zeta’s troops. His visual feed was getting disrupted by static, red warnings popping up one after another. A sharp stab of pain at his side; another – at his knee. Sensing his leg wobble, Megatron attacked the Insecticon in front of him in a desperate surge and realized with horror that his sword was stuck between the hard breastplates. The Insecticon was bleeding, but grinned, its mandibles flaring. A clawed palm grabbed Megatron’s wrist, holding the sword in place.

Megatron could barely stand now, his wounded leg giving up; yet he pushed forward, hoping to block the opening with their bodies. Just to hold the Swarm off a little more… He promised Orion. He promised.

His vision was fading, and then everything was filled with blue light. This is it, Megatron thought; this is the Afterspark. He was floating in a sea of light, mild breeze caressing his frame like a gentle hand; the pain was gone, and he didn’t feel his wounds anymore. This felt like… peace.

He didn’t expect to wake up after that, yet wake up he did. He was sprawled on the floor in front of the Vector Sigma stela. The Key was lying next to him. Strange; how did he get here?

Megatron propped himself up on his elbows, expecting to fight a wave of dizziness and pain – but none came. Upon closer inspection, his injuries were gone. In fact, his plating was pristine and polished, the way it might’ve only been on the day of his birth.

The Swarm! Megatron unsheathed his sword, jumping to his feet – but there were no Insecticons around. Just the corpses of those he killed, with no living beasts in sight. The little opening at the top of the rubble pile was empty.

“Orion?” Megatron looked around, his optics darting from side to side. “Orion!”

But there was no trace of the archivist. No body; nothing. Only…

Megatron blinked, then wiped his optics. In the middle of the chamber, behind the stela, a large orb of blue energy was floating in the air. It wasn’t there before, Megatron was sure; and Orion said that Primus was dead and his spark was gone. Was it really the Afterspark? It seemed suspiciously like reality…

Cautiously he approached the orb, squinting as the light became too bright. The orb’s energy didn’t hurt; in fact, it felt oddly familiar.

Too familiar.

With sudden terror, Megatron outstretched his arms, touching the edge of the energy. His hands bathed in blue light, and it was welcoming, warm. It was beating steadily… like a living spark.

“Orion…” Megatron gasped, his voice shaking. It all came together: with Primus gone forever, Cybertron needed another spark to give it life. A bright, powerful spark. And now it had one.

Megatron fell on his knees and covered his face.

**_Not Orion,_** some old, foreign voice whispered in his head. **_Optimus Prime._**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. The end of the journey - but not quite the end of the fic. There will be an epilogue, so stay tuned for one more update.


	20. Epilogue

It was a miracle every bot on Cybertron witnessed: energon crystals bursting out of the ground in the valleys and on the mountainsides; oil springs filling old, dried out riverbeds. Raiders and scavengers forgot their feuds, wandering the plains and gawking in shock how the barren desert bloomed. All around Cybertron mechs and femmes were telling it to each other, astonished: no more mining was needed, no more hunting other bots for the drops of precious energon. Now one could _farm_ it; harvest it like in old times! Surely Primus has returned, gracing his children with his kindness again!

There were other stories, too. They told of a lonely mech travelling around Cybertron; a mighty warrior who protected the weak and defeated tyrants and bandits. He walked out of cursed Kaon, people whispered, and the Insecticons moved aside, making way for him. His armor was grey like a dead mech’s, but life followed him everywhere. Crystals bloomed where he went, and violent storms calmed down around him, as if the planet itself showered him with its love.

He never stayed in one place for long, though, and those who looked into his red optics said they were distant and sad – especially when he touched a medallion that hanged around his neck.

***

Megatron watched Cybertron come back to life around him, and boundless joy at the sight mixed with the constant ache that plagued his spark ever since the day he left Kaon. He didn’t have anywhere he wanted to go – so he just wandered aimlessly. His journeys became a little more meaningful after he noticed the anomalies that seemed to accompany him. He helped little tribes start energon farms, since crystals he planted grew overnight. Not a drop of acid rain ever fell on the ground next to him, so he traveled with caravans sometimes, warding off bad weather as much as bandits.

It was getting a little ridiculous, to be honest. Sometimes, when gentle breeze cooled his plating after a hot day, he couldn’t help but chuckle and shake his head.

“You’re making it too easy for me, Orion,” he murmured, and the wind brushed his cheek like a lover’s hand.

He had a lot of time to think during his travels. Life was flourishing around him, yet somehow he didn’t feel like a part of it anymore. Life went on, but Orion wasn’t here; and nobody seemed to care. People were thanking Megatron for doing his “magic” on their farms, people were thanking Primus – while Orion was gone forever, gone to make all of this possible.

Megatron’s spark hurt and churned, and from its agony a melody was born – rhymed lines that pounded in Megatron’s head, demanding to be let out. So one day he stopped in a cave he found at the slopes of the Manganese Mountains, and took out Orion’s old datapad.

The words flowed like a steady stream, forming a story – one that Megatron knew all too well. It wasn’t one of those ancient, derelict stories that Orion used to read him; this story was young and new. It told of a scribe from the dead city of Iacon who was taken away to be a tyrant’s servant. It told of a miner from Far South who became a gladiator and then an Imperator.

It told of their journey guided by the ancient Key – and of love that bloomed between them. Of battles and friendships and discoveries. Of false Primes falling prey to their own arrogance.

And it told how Orion Pax of Iacon sacrificed his spark to reanimate the corpse of a dead god.

Megatron didn’t know if the poem he wrote was good. All he knew was that he needed to tell this story – and when he finished it, he left the cave and went to the nearest settlement. And there he read it to the entranced audience, and taught those who wanted how to read it themselves.

Once again he traveled across Cybertron, wandering from village to village, but this time he had a goal – a steady fire that burned him from within. Mechs and femmes gathered around him in the evenings to listen to the story that left them breathless – the first poetic story of the new world. And Megatron taught them the art of written letters, so that they could read and create their own stories too – a miracle more wondrous than crystals growing overnight.

Soon Megatron realized that he didn’t need to read his tale to others anymore, for they were sharing it on their own, writing their own stanzas for it, painting images – and Megatron’s spark stopped twisting, its pain fading to dull ache; for now Orion wouldn’t be forgotten. He might be gone – but in the memory of Cybertron’s people he would ride eternal in the brilliance of his glory.

***

One day Megatron’s travels take him to Sentinel’s former fortress. It is a town now, well-protected by the Knights of Light led by renown swordmaster Dai Atlas. There is a hospital here, too, and its Chief Medic hugs Megatron, somehow managing to berate him at the same time.

“Tell me,” Ratchet says, stepping back and glaring at him from below, “why in the Pits do we hear your story from some travelling merchants before we hear it from you?!”

Megatron has nothing to answer – perhaps he subconsciously avoided the place that held so many memories – but on the wall behind Ratchet’s back he sees a fresco. It is beautiful, painted with vibrant colors by a confident hand, and on the fresco he sees himself, facing the towering, monstrous figure of Sentinel Prime. The next image depicts the arena too, but this time it’s Megatron and Orion, locked in an embrace.

Megatron’s gaze moves further – and there is another image: the silvery sphere of Cybertron, and Orion in its center, his chest open and spark glowing bright blue.

Megatron looks at the painted face of the mech he loves and smiles, even though he wants to cry. This is not quite how it happened – but it doesn’t matter, for Orion lives, and in these frescos he will live forever.    

He meets Tarn, too – an awkward encounter in the middle of a rocky plain. Tarn leads a small band of mechs, and all of them bow before Megatron. Pharma is the only one who doesn’t – he sneers, his back rigid and his arms crossed; his stomach is rather flat, but there is a barely noticeable swell. Megatron congratulates Tarn with future sparklings and warns him against raiding peaceful settlers. Tarn begs him for forgiveness, and Megatron grants it without thinking – he doesn’t really care for old quarrels anymore.  

In fact, nowadays Megatron doesn’t really seem to care for most things. He prefers to be alone, and the vast wilderness doesn’t bother him. When he looks up at the starry sky at night, he feels like he is floating, dissolving in the clear air. His spark is numb, empty, its fire poured into his work and spread around the world.

Megatron closes his optics and lets the illusion consume him.

***

There are many stories people of Cybertron tell each other around the fires at night, but the most beloved one is the story of Orion Pax the scribe and Imperator Megatron. It has everything – epic adventures, fight for freedom, ancient miracles and tragic love.

But the most wondrous part about the story is that it’s real. It tells how the world was saved from death and rust, and before going to recharge Cybertronians look below, whispering thanks to the last of the Primes for giving his spark to ignite Cybertron. And if you’re lucky, people say, you might even meet Megatron, for he has chosen to travel the world, teaching Cybertonians to read and helping those in need.

Many vorns pass. Communication between different parts of the planet becomes better, and people start to realize that nobody has seen Megatron for ages. Literacy is widespread now, there are schools in every town, so Megatron’s teaching isn’t needed anymore; peace and order are protected by Cybertronians themselves, and farms are prospering without Megatron’s blessing presence. And yet people worry and speculate, guessing what happened to their hero.

Some say Megatron flew to the stars to spread his tale to other worlds, or that he’s living as a hermit in some remote part of the world. Others insist that he couldn’t bear being apart from his beloved and took his own life, wishing to reunite with Optimus Prime. Some put these stories in verses and add it to the original poem, creating different versions of it.

There is a version that only people from a little village in a desert oasis tell. They sing of a tall grey mech standing under the starlit sky – and of a figure of blue light, radiant and beautiful, wrapping its ghostly arms around him. The grey mech smiles as the blue light engulfs him, and when the sun rises, there is only wind gusting over the dunes, blowing sand over an ancient silvery medallion.

 

*******

**Remember, I will still be here**

**As long as you hold me in your memory**

**Remember me**

**I am the one star that keeps burning, so brightly,**

**It is the last light to fade into the rising sun**

**I'm with you**

**Whenever you tell my story**

**For I am all I've done**

**I am the one voice in the cold wind, that whispers**

**And if you listen, you'll hear me call across the sky**

**As long as I still can reach out, and touch you**

**Then I will never die**

**Remember, I'll never leave you**

**If you will only**

**Remember me**

**Remember, I will still be here**

**As long as you hold me**

**In your memory**

**Remember, when your dreams have ended**

**Time can be transcended**

**I live forever**

**Remember me**

 

(Josh Groban - _Remember Me_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please listen to this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vnS07jLPSUE  
> It's beautiful and, if this fic was a movie, should be playing as the credits roll. 
> 
> Thank you all so, so much for staying with me throughout this story! It took me two long years to write, and I really appreciate that you continued reading it until the end. Your comments and kudos supported me greatly.


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